Tales of Dragons and an Irishman: the Great Northern War
by McHartson22
Summary: Hiccup and his family stumble across a wounded vigilante and his dragon during a family picnic. The news the homeless young warrior brings will plunge Berk and the entire Archipelago into a desperate fight for their lives, but will also bring love and family into the forefront. Takes place after Dragon3, minus the dragons leaving.
1. Prologue

_Hey guys! This story is set about 18 years after HtTyD 3, with most of the movie being canon except the dragons never left and Hiccup's children are a little different than shown. It's the story of a young Irishman and his life after he arrives at New Berk, particularly as he tries to deal with an incredibly powerful warlord while trying to settle in. I have smaller stories that fill in a lot of his backstory that i might publish if enough interest is shown.  
_

_ I've been working on this project for a while now, it probably took me 2 or so years to finish. It is my first attempt at an actual written story, so it won't be perfect. That being said, I think it's pretty decent as home-made stuff goes and I hope you enjoy!_

_Also, the first couple chapters are a little slow since i had to spend a bit of time "setting the stage" so to speak. The real stuff starts happening at around ch 6. Sorry bout that!_

**Prologue**

Gunnar slowly stood up from the blow, grunting in pain. He was tired. Looking down through the blood from a gash on his head, he saw yet another arrow embedded in his armor, but this one he felt had found flesh. He reached down and snapped off the shaft and looked up.

Across the blood-soaked and smoky field of slaughter the pungent smell of seared flesh lay. Although he and Shock, his "Firehawk" as his Irish brethren had called him, had given the Dreadlacian soldiers a run for their money, it looked like they were finally caught. Like a rat in a corner.

Shock had what looked like a dozen arrows in him and blood from another dozen seeped in between his crude leather armor. They weren't flying out. But that fire still burned in his deep orange eyes, and his dirty- but noble- red and black scales still glimmered in the light of the rising sun. He grinned. Shock still had fight in him yet. Gunnar tore his gaze from his proud Firehawk and looked through his visor at the thinned ranks of enemy soldiers preparing for the final assault.

Their numbers had been severely thinned. Hundreds of their fellows lay dead behind them, shot, slashed, or burnt, but still what was left came on. They smelled blood and final victory, and the 200-300 of them that remained regrouped and began to advance cautiously.

Gunnar stood to face them. Pulling himself up to his full height but keeping his hand pressed to his injured shoulder, he picked up a sword from the ground and raised it in one final gesture of defiance. Beside him Shock let out a great roar, promising death to any who approached. But onward the shielded mass came. Slowly, unstoppably, aiming to finally get rid of these infuriatingly pesky fighters.

Gunnar took one final deep breath. His blood rage from earlier had spent itself. He was out of arrows, out of knives, out of tricks, and his sword laid shattered on the ground, but he still had fight in him, and hate and contempt for the enemy. Well, he thought, he may be battered and wounded, but he was still the better warrior. Steeling himself, oblivious to the pain, he advanced with Shock at his side to meet them.

As he walked, the masked warrior started to sway. His head begin to feel light from the effects of severe blood loss. Through his blurred vision he saw them lunge. Parrying a thrust to his head out of instinct, he dispatched the soldier with a lightning-fast swipe to the throat. He jerked his light head backward to avoid a spear thrust from his right. As he dispatched that soldier with the guy's own spear he saw the outline of another soldier fly through the air, screaming. Shock must be in among their formation. The world started to spin. He fell to his knees, still blocking and striking out, wildly now, not with the cold efficiency of earlier.

As he began to be overpowered, the sounds of Shock fighting next to him dimmed out of focus. His thoughts scattered. He felt something he never thought he'd feel: satisfaction. He would die in battle, with his family and village revenged tenfold. As he slowly blacked out he saw the outline of another soldier raise his axe… then through the pain, the confusion, the dimness, one sound pierced through the air like an arrow, freezing all who heard it in an unknown fear.

A banshee-like scream, growing in pitch, slashed through the air. Another joined it. The soldiers looked around uneasily, then started to panic as the sound grew ever louder in noise and ferocity.

The last thing Gunnar remembered seeing was the odd sight of a series of blue explosions appearing in front of him in slow motion, then a black cat-like dragon landed near the smoldering craters. The blurry outline of its armored rider approached- then knelt down in front of him. The words the man spoke were wavy, out of focus. But Gunnar could still hear them- "Keep the Nadder calm Toothless, lemme see if I can talk to his rider. Hello? Mister? You ok?" A woman's voice echoed from behind the shape. The man answered without turning his head. "No Astrid, he's not responding. Although he _is_ awake, by the looks of it. Mister? Can you here me?"

As Gunnar opened his mouth to answer, all went black.


	2. Chapter 1- Introductions

**Chapter 1- Introductions**

"Hiccup?"

Astrid's voice from downstairs snaps the Chief of Berk out of his deep thought.

"Yes M'lady?"

"Valka says that the visitor is awake . She thinks he's well enough to ask him some questions now. I know it _is_ a little late, but do you want to go ahead and do that?"

*sigh* "Yeah, I guess I'd better."

"Don't act like you don't want to, Hiccup Haddock. I know you. Curiosity has been eating you alive ever since we brought him and his dragon in two weeks ago. Probably as bad as it has been eating Freya."

"Ha! Yeah, you're right, but not _that_ bad."

Astrid did have a pretty good idea how much curiosity _had_ been eating at him. He'd been trying to figure out who the kid was and what had happened to him and his dragon. All he knew was that he and his family were just coming back from a family picnic South-East of Berk when Stormfly picked up and homed in on an unknown Nadder's distress call.

They had come down from the clouds to see both man and dragon full of arrows and backed up against a cliff edge surrounded by some of the evilest looking soldiers Hiccup had ever seen. Bodies of countless more soldiers lay scattered across the landscape, along with numerus arrows and fires. They had swooped in and chased off the remaining attackers, calmed the mysterious dragon down, then carried the unconscious rider back to New Berk. What Hiccup had found strange was that among the bodies he saw only one crest, a copy he was fiddling with when Astrid interrupted him. And he didn't like the look of it.

The mysterious rider's armored dragon, a glossy red and black Titanwing Nadder, was settling in to life at New Berk reasonably well. When they first touched down and the Titanwing, which Hiccup had named Fireblast for the time being, had finally submitted to treatment by Gobber, Hiccup noticed that the big dragon was somewhat overwhelmed with all of the dragons and Vikings coming to look at him, and didn't really care for the attention. As the week progressed under Fishlegs' care, it became clear that the battle scared reptile was experiencing his first interaction with other dragons, which just made Hiccup more and more curious.

Why was that Titanwing born so far away so as to not meet any dragons before now? Who does this mysterious crest belong to and should he consider it a threat? (It was of a flaming, horned skull. That can't be a good sign.) Where did Fireblast and his rider come from? How many parties took part in that battlefield that they found them in? It looked like an entire army vs the two he picked up, but Hiccup had a hard time believing that.

Time to get some answers.

/

Hiccup arrived at the Healers' hut. It was more spacious and more… accessible than the old one on Berk. His mother Valka, the 'crazy dragon lady' as many Vikings still called her, lived in the upper floor of the house, with a roomy pen for her dignified Stormcutter, Cloudjumper, just outside. Inside the house there were multiple cordoned off rooms for patients, a kitchen, and large pantry for medicines, with a sick bay for injured dragons outside.

As Hiccup walked into the visitor's room with Astrid, he noticed his kids and Valka were already there. His two children, Aker and Freya, (18 and 17 years old respectfully) were very different from each other. Aker was obviously the older and more serious child of the two. He was a lot like Hiccup's father, and he took his upcoming chiefing duties _very_ seriously. He was undoubtably here to see how a chief would handle this situation, complete with a note book and pencil.

Freya, settled next to the bed with an ill-concealed look of excitement on her face, was obviously here just because her curiosity had been eating her alive. She'd hadn't talked about much else ever since they brought the guy back, theorizing with Fishlegs about Fireblast and his history and how this guy had showed up where he had. She also mentioned that she _thought _had seen him and his dragon before- back when she made her little exploring trip down south- but she hadn't said much else. The only info she had was that he was interested in her dragon and that he called himself the Archer. Hiccup was considering letting her do the questioning just for the heck of it. She'd definitely do a more thorough job than he would.

As he entered the young man turned his head to look at the new comers. He was (still) looking quite rough, but for the first time since his arrival his eyes were bright and intelligent, evaluating both Hiccup and Astrid as they walked in. Most of the smaller cuts and bruises had already scabbed up or healed, but his bigger injuries were still very much a presence- most notable were the thick bandages on his head, shoulder, and thigh.

In appearance, he was tall, maybe around six feet, with short reddish-blond hair and bright blue eyes. He wasn't built like many of Berk's Vikings, in fact most would call him scrawny, but one could tell that his arms and chest had immense power in them. Lean and mean, just like me, Hiccup thought with a chuckle. He also had a good number of scars from what looked like years of rough living and fighting. Similar to his dragon.

The chief walked in and sat down next to the cot, as Astrid did the same.

Hiccup decided to just dive in: "Well, good to see you awake and looking better. I trust Valka has given you something to eat? We might be here for a while, depending on your strength."

The stranger's voice was strong and confident, with a slight trace of a foreign accent. "I'll be fine, sir. And yes, she did give me something to eat… I was _famished_. Thanks again for that, ma'am."

Hiccup's graceful mother nodded. "Please, call me Valka. And we're all glad to help another dragon rider such as yourself. I've heard the stories from the individuals who picked you up from the cliffside."

"Oh. Who picked me up? Wait a minute… Where's Shock?" the stranger sat up a little too fast trying to look out of the window, then fell back into the pillows with a hiss of pain, clutching his leg. "I forgot I had a hole there for a second."

Freya jumped up and adjusted his pillows for him. "Who's Shock? Your dragon?"

"Yeah… is he ok?"

"Oh, he's fine. Getting used to the environment. Valka and I showed him around last week."

"A week?! Jeez… How long have I been out of it?"

"About two weeks, give or take," Hiccup interjected.

"Dang… was the hit to the head really that bad?"

Valka shook her head gently. "No my dear, you were only unconscious for about two days after you were brought in. That was from the blow to the head. But the rest of those two weeks of delirium you can mostly thank your high fever for."

Hiccup nodded, then turned his attention back to the stranger. "Would you mind introducing yourself? We couldn't find any identifying, well, anything on your armor or gear."

"Ah crap, I forgot that." He hesitated just a moment, then shrugged. "Sure. My name is Gunnar McHartson, from Northern Ireland. Which is- should be- South East of here. More South than East, if you catch my drift... but… yeah. And you guys are?"

"My name is Hiccup Haddock, Chief of the Berkians. This is my wife, Astrid-" "nice to meet you" "- my mother, Valka, and these are my children; Aker and Freya. Freya I believe you've met before?"'

Gunnar studied Freya's eager face for a second, searching his memory. "Hmm… her face does look familiar… wait, I've got it. You're one of those two girls I jumped at that campsite north of Birkin, aren't you? The one with the disappearing white and black firehawk… I mean, dragon."

Freya smiled satisfactorily. "You do remember! I recognized your dragon on the cliffside. He's a little unique."

Hiccup looked surprised. "Um, I'm sorry- 'jumped'?"

Gunnar looked a little flustered. "Oh, uh, yeah, I'm not a stalker or anything, I assure you. It's just back when I was still… working, a friend of mine said that a group of Vikings were visiting Birkin from up North and they might know more about dragons. I figured the really bright campfire in the absolute middle of nowhere was theirs, so I 'dropped' by. I will admit I scared the crap out of the group, but I had to be careful. People've set traps for me before."

Hiccup nodded. "Ah. Well that's a relief. Did Freya help you get the info you needed?"

"Oh yeah, they were really helpful. I warned them about the local situation, and they gave me a little information on Berk and how to find you guys. I was actually on my way up when I got ambushed."

"Mm. Interesting. Well, I guess the next question is can you give us a brief rundown of your backstory? We have a good bit of questions that need to be answered, some as a matter of curiosity but others of some importance for my village. Would you mind starting off by telling us a little bit about yourself and your dragon?"

Gunnar shrugged. "Sounds fair. Well, here you go Chief. I'll make it short then I'll do my best to answer any questions you might have. Least I can do for getting me off of that cliff."


	3. Chapter 2- Questions and Answers

**Chapter 2- Questions and Answers**

"So, I'll just start from the beginning. I was born somewhere in South Ireland. My blood father was some Irish warrior- don't know his name. My mother was half Roman half Viking. My father was killed in a raid against the Saxons _really_ far south and my mother disappeared soon after, so I never really knew them. I grew up in a small northern Irish town, raised by an old Scottish warrior-turned blacksmith. I joined the town guard was I was 14, got promoted when I was 15. A man named Dreadlac attacked and destroyed everything about a year after my promotion."

He winced at the painful memory. "…I was one of the few who escaped. From then till now I've just been harassing him and destroying as much of his stuff as possible. Guerrilla fighting via a one-man insurgency essentially. Mildly. Which is a _little_ ironic since my name means 'Noble Army'. But I guess I got too big for my britches and ambushed a camp without proper scouting on my way up. Got chased to that cliff edge and here I am now. That's pretty much my entire life story, give or take a couple details."

Valka tilted her head at him. "I have a question. You mentioned you got promoted when you were 15? What in the world did you do to make someone give rank to a child? No offense, of course."

Gunnar looked a little bit embarrassed. "None taken. I uh… I sort of led my Baron's archer regiment into a bad scrap we were having with our neighbors to the south. Must have been the straw that won us the battle because maybe 5 minutes after our impact they were running. Baron Mckullough thought it was a big deal. He did promote me from an archer militiaman to a yeoman sergeant. That was one hell of a good man."

Aker looked up from his notes with an impressed look. "Of course, that was a big deal! You probably saved his butt during the scrap with your initiative. That's the only logical explanation for that rank jump at 15."

Valka's eyebrows went up. "15? My goodness child! How long _have_ you been fighting?"

"Since I was 13-14. Depends on when you count the starting point though. I've been fighting town bullies since I was 5 and scrapping with petty highway robbers since I was 12. Ish. I'm 18 now, so…. Yeah. I've been doing it for a while now."

Valka shook her head. "That's not healthy young man."

Gunnar shrugged. "I of all people know that ma'am. But it's what I'm good at and trouble keeps finding me. It _has_ gotten me where I am now. For both the good and bad." He mumbled.

Hiccup was a little surprised. It sounded like the extended version of this story would be quite interesting to listen to. "All right, that works for now. So… I guess my next question is… well, _who_ were those soldiers you were fighting when we found you? Can you elaborate on who this Dreadlac guy is? And most importantly, are they a threat to us and my tribe?"

A strange look passed over Gunnar's face. "Uhh, well, I'll be blunt. Those nitwits I was fighting are part of Dreadlac's army. Dreadlac, from what I've heard (never actually seen his ugly mug yet), is a merciless, evil, power-hungry conquer who is willing to do anything necessary to obtain an empire for himself."

"However, speaking from _personal_ experience, he and his soldiers are extortionists, tyrants, rapists, murderers, and just overall evil bullies. If you end up within the boundaries of Dreadlac's dream empire, he will find you and either kill you or force you into submission at some point." The young man paused. "And if he finds out that you are harboring me, you will DEFINITELY be on the top of his hit list."

"Why's that?" asked Aker from his corner. He was having quite a good time with all of this important chiefly information and had already filled up three whole pages with notes.

"Well, I take it that you haven't recognized my helmet and it's mask from the wanted posters that have been floating around down south. Long story short, every time I attack or destroy something (or somebody) of his all the survivors see is my mask, and my dragon. All they find afterwards are my… ah… calling cards. They consequently report it as another one of my attacks. And over the past two years there have been a very large number of-uh… reports. I've grown to be the biggest pain his rear has ever felt."

Freya's eyes lit up "What a minute! Are you saying that _you're_ the Butcher? Or the Outlaw? From the dead-or-alive posters me and Annika saw in Ireland? I remember spotting a couple in town after your visit, but we didn't really believe you were the actual guy they were talking about. You seemed too nice to match the description."

"Eeh- sort of. According to them yes, I was the Butcher (which I completely understand), but I think the Outlaw sounds cooler. I _was_ called the Archer way back when my village was still standing but that was a long time ago."

Hiccup had to barge in: "So, according to Dreadlac, you're a murderer?"

Gunnar took a second to look at the chief. Suddenly perceiving where Hiccup was going with this, he answered. "Ok, hold on a second sir. I see where you're going with this, and I understand your concern, but let me clarify a few things. Yes, I have killed _hundreds_ of Dreadlac's soldiers, many of them quite painfully. And to whoever I let go they say it was a bloody, violent, massacre. And while I'm not ashamed to say I did that, in fact I'm quite proud of it, I will present the other half of the coin, so to speak. All I do is give them a taste of their own medicine."

"Dreadlac is building an empire out of _fear_. I was there when he and his soldiers overran our army that tried to keep him from our homes and slaughtered every last one of us. I saw firsthand the aftermath of when he preceded to sack all of our villages and burn them to the ground in 'retaliation' for resistance. I am quite possibly the only warrior left alive from that entire _kingdom_. You probably already know this, but a soldier kills the enemy soldier, and a butcher or a murder kills the enemy civilian. I've never harmed a non-combatant."

Aker spoke up from his corner- "You said you were the only warrior to escape. How did YOU get out?"

"I escaped because of Shock. I knew I could do much more damage to the enemy if I was on the offensive than if I did a futile last stand like everybody else. Simple as that. I am- was- looking for payback for my village, that's all. And as I followed them north and saw the same situation across the board, it looked to me like I was the only one left who was willing to fight back. For everyone."

Hiccup nodded. "Well spoken. And no offense by that previous question- I wasn't accusing you of anything. I just found their accusations… interesting."

"You're good. I will admit clarification was needed in that whole story."

Freya's eyebrows were furrowed, taking all of this in. Suddenly she jerked head up. "Where did you get Shock?"

Hiccup sighed. His daughter wasn't paying attention again. "Honey, he already covered that. It was where he lived in Northern Ireland."

"Well yeah, I heard that part, but how did a dragon egg get that far south? Me and Uncle Fishlegs were talking about it at the Academy. Even the farthest dragons you found on your maps don't go past the Southern barriers of the Archipelago. Remember you said that you searched past the barrier way back and found nothing? They were all northish or west of old Berk. And dragon eggs don't float, so…"

Well, Hiccup thought, it was a good question. He HAD been wondering about that. "You're right honey." He turned to the man propped up in bed. "How _did_ you find your dragon so far south?"

Gunnar shrugged. "No idea. I found his egg when I was 5, so I don't really remember much. I _have_ wondered why he seemed to be the only dragon in the whole country, but the truth is, I have no clue. Thought you guys might know."

"Mm. I don't know. We can take a closer look at that later."

Gunnar shrugged and nodded in agreement.

Astrid spoke up. "I have a question. I know you were in the archer militia, but how did you get your title '_The_ Archer'? Surnames are hard to get. It sounds like you got that before you joined."

Gunnar perked up with a grin. "So, I've been using a bow since for as long as I can remember. That and a good stave was my primary weapon before a got picked up by Seamus- the Scotsman who adopted me- who refined that and taught me swordplay. Let's just say I won quite a few archery competitions back home to get that name. I can show you a few tricks once I…" He suddenly remembered with a frown that his bow was probably still on the cliff edge. "…build another bow. Damnit, I forgot that those numbskulls broke mine."

Astrid tilted her head. "We can help you with that later, but what about close-in? In my opinion ranged fighting is for cowards. I'm not calling you one, absolutely not, but still. What do you prefer to fight with?"

Hiccup rolled his eyes. Lemme guess, he thought, she's gonna want to do some sparring as soon as he's well enough for it.

Gunnar grinned. "Ol' Seamus always said that the most dangerous weapon at my disposal was my head, and not in you guy's sense. Although my favorite set of weapons are a good hand-and-a-half sword and a long knife. You can pull some wicked-fast combos with those. I'm also proficient with staffs and throwing knives."

Astrid grinned. Hiccup knew that look. "Well as soon as you're healed up maybe we can do a little sparring. I haven't fought decent opponent in years."

Gunnar grinned. "Neither have I. It would be my absolute pleasure."

Called it, Hiccup thought.

Valka stood up. "Well, our new friend is looking tired after eating that big meal, and the sun is setting quickly. Enough questions! You can finish planning your death match later. I know I need some sleep myself."

The others stood up. Hiccup stretched. "Yeah, I have to agree there, I do have other things to be doing. Bucket and Mulch were scheduled to be back inland from a fishing trip about as hour ago. I gotta see if they're late or not. We'll figure out living arrangements for while you heal up. I don't want you _living_ in this stuffy place for another two months" - his mother interrupted indignantly "three months and it's not stuffy"- "three months. Anyways, thank you for answering all of our questions, it was a pleasure meeting you."

Gunnar nodded his head "Likewise. Thanks again for the patchwork."

"Anytime. We here in New Berk try to help as many passersby's as possible."

"I'm glad you did."


	4. Chapter 3- A New World

**Chapter 3- A New World**

Gunnar awoke to hushed voices outside his curtained-off section of the Berkian healing house. He hadn't slept well last night. Ever since his first "interview" a couple nights ago he'd been rather agitated. He had heard stories of Berk for the past couple years now, of its wonders and people and most of all, its dragons. He desperately wanted to take a look around. The only thing standing in his way was his leg and Valka. One could be ignored but the other could not.

Valka was his biggest obstacle. He badly wanted to check on Shock, but the wise old Viking woman was proving a very stubborn and vigilant watchkeeper. Today might be different though. His leg was feeling much better. Whatever salve Valka had put in his wounds was working incredibly well, despite the fact that Gunnar was _pretty_ sure he saw the Viking word for 'spit' on the jar.

He sat up and stretched his leg. Yep, he thought as he winced, I need to do some stretching. Definitely need some stretching. The curtain was moved aside. Behind it was Valka, looking a little… was it defeated? Yup, for sure. Because Freya was standing right behind her looking the exact opposite- utterly victorious.

"Well, good morning child. How are you feeling?"

Gunnar stretched some more. "Not bad. Much better than usual. Although I will say I need to get some exercise in. I am feeling _quite_ *mmgff* stiff."

"Oh, aye, that's to be expected. Why don't you take a short trip to the stables to check on your dragon? Freya here has volunteered to go with you and give you a tour." She grinned. "Just remember to take it easy, and be back before dark. Have fun!"

She handed him a crutch to use. Gunnar took a moment to feel it out, then he slowly stood up.

"Ready to go. We'll be back!"

Gunnar walked through the healing house and stepped outside into the bright northern sunshine with Freya close behind him. The sight that met his eyes took his breath away.

He had stories about the mysterious place that the Dragon People had disappeared to and called New Berk. But nothing he had heard prepared him for the beauty of this village above the clouds. Standing outside of the healing house's front door, he could see the entire village. Rolling hills, streams, waterfalls, and thick forests crowned the mountain top. In front of him, the village lay. Viking houses with colorful dragon head decorations littered the landscape, cranes holding the village's fleet were poised upon the cliff edges, and more houses than he could count were built upon massive tree trunks and sat above the rest of the town.

But what really took his breath away was what was beyond the village and who inhabited it. Beyond the cliffs that hemmed the happy Vikings in lay a blanket of clouds that concealed them from the rest of the world. An endless sheet of fluffy white reflecting the sun's rays made the perfect backdrop for the inhabitants as they went about their daily lives.

Firehawks and their riders were everywhere. Of every type, color, size, and description, the number and variety of the dragons flying and resting before his eyes was awe-inspiring. There were big firehawks, little ones, some with two heads, others that looked like boulders and still others that could change the color of their scales. He just stood there and stared around him for a good few moments until he was interrupted.

"It's amazing, isn't it?"

He looked at Freya, then back to the view before him. "Yeah it is. I've never seen anything like this before."

She grinned. "And you won't anywhere else. We Berkians are the only tribe who has truly mastered how to live with dragons. And it's all thanks to Dad and the Alpha of all Dragons: Toothless." She gestured to the Chief in his bearskin robe riding a splendid jet-black dragon that reminded Gunnar of a cat.

"_Toothless_? He named the King of Dragons _Toothless_?"

"Yeah, it's a long story. I'm going to have to tell you about that later. But let me tell you there is some stranger-sounding names around here. Just as a fore-warning."

"Like what?"

Freya started counting on her fingers. "Uh, let's see. There's Barf and Belch, Spitlout, Snotlout, Burp, Grump, _Butt_nut, Meatface... well, I could go on but those are just off the top of my head."

"Huh. Wow. Well, where's Shock?"

"He's probably down by the stables. Here, I'll show you."

They started down the hill at a somewhat slow pace. Gunnar was quick to figure out his crutch and they were soon moving at a normal walking pace. The pair headed in the direction of the wooden elevators leading down into the caves below the village.

In the catacombs beneath the village was housed multiple well-organized storage houses and stables. It was surprisingly well lit with clear signs at the intersections to help Vikings avoid getting lost. Artwork hung on the walls, painted by seemingly everyone in the village. Between 5-year-old's drawings hung many beautiful paintings painted by what looked like professional artists. They all depicted either dragons, a noble looking mountain of a man with a thick red beard, or a tall, populated island that Gunnar assumed was old Berk.

He pointed them out to his guide. Freya just shrugged. "Yeah, that island was our original home for something like 8 generations before we moved here, a beautiful place, really, but after Grimmel drove us out of it and we found this island, no one has wanted to go back. And that man," She pointed at the red-bearded Viking, "is my granddad, Stoick the Vast. I've never met him, since he died in battle with Drago Bludvist before I was born, but the stories about him are legendary. He's easily the most beloved chief that we've ever had."

Gunnar's eyebrows went up. He studied the painting closer. So that's what Valka's husband looked like, he thought. Chief Hiccup took more after his mother, apparently.

As Freya guided him through the tunnels, they passed Vikings and dragons going every which way. Most didn't pay them any heed, but a few greeted Freya and stared at the strange-looking soldier on a crutch following her. They entered a large cave whose opening was below the cloud cover. All along the back wall was pens of varying sizes and shapes, and a pair of massive wooden doors lay prepared to close off the opening whenever it was needed. Freya directed him to a stall on the far left of the cave.

"We keep all of the Nadder stalls in groups since they like to live and travel in packs. Shock seems to be fitting in pretty well with the Berkian flock. It did take him a little bit to get over all the attention he was getting from everyone, though. Uncle Fishlegs was jumping up and down with excitement the first time we brought him in. Nobody here has been able to locate (let alone tame) a wild Titanwing Nadder yet so we didn't have a lot of info on big guys like him. We'd really like to do a little research later to figure out the differences between him and the normal guys, but that can come later. Anyways, here we are!"

They walked up to a large open pen with a picture of a Nadder hanging by the door. Inside was a handful of colorful Nadders preening, eating, and sleeping. In the corner was Shock, his now well-polished red and black scales glimmering above the heads of the smaller (and in _some_ cases, younger) dragons clustering around a trough-full of fish. Gunnar walked in and whistled.

Automatically the Nadder's head jerked up at the familiar noise with his mouth full of fish and looked over toward the door. He quickly gulped down the fish he had and bull-dozed through his fellows to get to his grinning rider.

"Hey big guy. How've you been doin?" Gunnar said as Shock nuzzled him gently and purred.

Gunnar glanced at the assortment of Nadders behind the pair. "I see you've made some friends. Checking out the local ladies, huh?" The big dragon gave him a look. Gunnar chuckled.

"Just kidding. You've been treated well?" Shock nodded his head made some deep grunts as he eyed Gunnar with his left eye.

"What, you miss venison already? You almost never get fish. And, I might add, you don't have to work for it as much." The Irishman gave the massive dragon a scratch under the chin as he smiled.

Shock made some more squawks and shook his spines.

"If you like hunting that much go find some boars or something."

The big Nadder made an indignant noise and looked at Gunnar with his right eye.

"I don't know, but you can figure it out. Anyways, I've heard boar meat is good, maybe even better than deer."

Shock snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, we'll see. Honestly though, you're looking absolutely magnificent. I haven't seen you all cleaned up and this healthy in a while." The big old boy purred in appreciation.

As this banter was going on Freya was watching the two of them with interest. It looked like they were having a full-blown (two-sided) conversation as Gunnar limped around the dragon inspecting the fresh scars and bandages that covered Shock.

She decided to interrupt during a pause in their conversation. "Can you understand what he's saying?"

Both of them looked at her. "Yeah, a little bit. He knows Irish and English, but he can't speak either- of course. But yes, I can understand what _he_ is saying, to an extent. We've been extremely close friends since he hatched. He's really the only guy I've known that has stuck around (or survived) for my entire life. We're pretty close, to put it mildly."

Freya nodded. "So, he can understand what I'm saying now?"

"Every word. He's extremely intelligent."

"I can see that. You wanna go see the rest of the island?"

Gunnar shrugged. "Sure, why not. Lemme see if I can mount up first. We're did you guys put my saddle?"

"Better not or Valka will find out. She probably doesn't want you flying just yet. We can just walk for now and I'll show you around."

"Oh. Probably right. You up for a walk big guy?"

Shock roared and shook his head. Gunnar laughed. "Yeah, I've missed your ugly mug. Let's go."

They walked out of the only main entrance with a ramp big enough to accommodate a dragon and re-entered the village above. Throughout the rest of the day she showed them the location of the Great Hall, the blacksmith shop (which Gunnar showed a special interest in), the central market, the chiefs house, and other important landmarks throughout the village.

What Gunnar found most impressive was the New Berk Dragon Training Academy. It was comprised of well-organized classrooms, pens, (fireproof) research libraries, and a huge arena with a massive assortment of weapons, targets, obstacles, dummies, and other tools of dragon training. When they visited there were active classes being taught and Gunnar was able to watch a senior class practicing maneuvers in the arena.

Something that Gunnar found strange was the fact that the village had three separate armories, each with enough weapons to arm the entire village. When he asked Freya why this was, she simply said that "when we were fighting the Outcasts way back when, there was an accidental fire at the armory just in time for an Outcast attack. The village was essentially helpless. Granddad said, 'never again!' and now we have a bunch of armories. It took forever for Gobber to fill them up, but we're prepared now. Top-notch weapons, too. Most of them Gronckle iron."

They met a lot of the villagers throughout the tour, each of which Freya greeted by name with a bright smile. Gunnar found that although he wasn't familiar with the Viking's way of naming somebody (Bucket? Not-So-Silent Sven? And who names their kid _Mulch_?), they were generally a happy, content people. Each villager from the age of twelve up had their own dragon, and they all seemed as if they knew what they were doing with them. Overall, he was very impressed.

"…And that's just the normal village limits. There's a whole bunch of cool spots through the island that I can't wait to show you as soon as you're ready to start flying again." They had finally circled back to Valka's healing house.

"I can't wait to start flying myself. Thanks so much for walking me around. I really appreciate the guided tour."

"No problem at all. I hope you have a good night!"

Gunnar grinned. "You too. Good night!"

As Gunnar walked back into the house and Shock was sent back to his pen, he ran into Valka poking at the fire at the center of main room. She looked up at him with a twinkle in her eye. "Well, how was your day? You were out for a good long while."

Gunnar shrugged, completely missing the teasing look being cast his way. "Eh. Freya just showed me around town. You guys have one heck of a village. It definitely exceeded my expectations."

"Well, I'm glad you like it. I'll get you some food."

Gunnar was out cold when she finally brought it.


	5. Chapter 4- A Proposal

**Chapter 4- A Proposal **

Freya awoke with the sun shining in her face. Her dragon, Toothless' Nightlight that Freya had named Flashbang, opened a sleepy eye to her rider's movements from her bed across the room. Flash had grown up to look almost exactly like her mother (the Light Fury now named Whiteout), but unlike her mother (and her other two siblings, Deathmirror and Lake-eye) she was completely comfortable around humans. She was bright, curious, a bit stubborn, and the two of them were absolutely infatuated with each other. They were quite obviously the perfect match and both Hiccup and Toothless knew it.

"Good morning girl!" Freya said cheerily. Flashbang yawned and warbled in reply.

Freya was excited. Today was the day. She was meeting up with her friends to discuss a proposal that she had come up with. She had grown up to her parents' stories of adventure, danger and exploration back when they all were her age. Her idea was a simple one- she and all of her friends would go on similar trips but call them 'mapping expeditions'. She loved the idea of getting to go out camping and exploring. All she needed to do was persuade the gang.

"Come on Flash, we've got an important meeting to go to!"

Rushing to get dressed, she was out of the door with a biscuit in her mouth within minutes. Flashbang looked a little grumpy for being rushed, as usual, but the two of them were in the air in a (literal) flash.

It had been a couple of months since Gunnar had been brought back from that battlefield. He was doing much better. Freya had spent a lot of time with him, listening to his stories and trying her best to catch him up on all the dragon knowledge that he had missed. Although he (at first) seemed a little quiet and reserved, not really mentioning what he had been doing for the past three-four years, after Freya had 'worked' him over he was soon becoming more and more high-spirited. Freya had decided to add him to her little circle, of which she had called together for this meeting.

Touching down at the meeting spot, a secluded clearing near the village, Freya hopped off of her dragon and looked at the assembled gang.

There was seven of them total, with their fish-basket full pile of colorful dragons. The first one Freya noticed was Buttnut Thorston, hanging upside down from a tree with a mischievous grin on his face. He was the son of Tuffnut and Ingerhild Thorston, and both he and his father were determined that Buttnut would carry on the family… legacy- much to Hiccup's (and everyone else's) dismay. He rode a sea-green Thunderdrum that he had named Burp, and although Burp was fully grown, he had lost none of his younger appetite for destruction. Much to Hiccup's (and everyone else's) further dismay.

Standing right underneath Buttnut, with complete obliviousness to the danger right above his head, was Snotlout and Minden Jorgenson's son, Spitlout. A spitting copy of his father, with a little bit of his mother's Wingmaiden looks thrown in, Spitlout was a handful. His dragon, a yellowish orange Monstrous Nightmare named Hookfire, watched her rider and his impending doom with an evil smirk on her face.

Hiding behind the tree Buttnut had placed himself in, with an even eviler smirk on her face, was Breka Ingerman, the daughter of Fishlegs and Ruffnut Ingerman. She was a definite mix of those two: with a head more on her fathers' side and an attitude more on her mother's side, Breka and her red male Gronckle, Meatface, were known as the village enigmas. The both of them could be quite gentle one moment, and almost destroy the village the next. On purpose.

Standing off to the side, unaware of what was transpiring to their right, stood the more normal of the group, Eret, Rod, Annika, and Gunnar. Rod, short for Roderick Hofferson, was Astrid's cousin's son. He was tall, blond, well built, with a kind and professional demeanor. Rod was training day and night to become the best warrior he could be, and he and Gunnar had taken a liking to each other almost immediately as brothers-in-arms. Rod was drawing out a design for some weapon in the dirt and Gunnar- despite his crutch- was crouched over it and the two were discussing it animatedly. Rod's dragon, a royal blue male Stormcutter named Galerider, watched them with the aloof expression common to all dragons of his species.

Standing behind the pair engrossed in their work, trying to make sense of what they were talking about with a slightly confused face on, stood Freya's best friend and Spitlout's sister, Annika Jorgenson. Ann was as far from a Jorgenson as humanly possible. She was shy, cautious, somewhat fragile, and generally the most sensible person in the group. Her dragon, a Hobblegrunt she had been playing with since they were toddlers named Sparklegrunt, or Sparkles, was peacefully sleeping behind her rider.

Leaning against the tree next to Annika, flipping a boomerang, was Eret son of Eret son of Eret. Or just Eret Jr. He was decently tall, well-muscled, with his father's over-helping of confidence. His dragon, a female Changewing named Acid, was the wonder of Berk's dragon training circles. There was a lot of speculating on how exactly Eret Jr had trained a wild Changewing, but that secret had been told to no one. Acid was a sly and almost sinister looking dragon who moved like a confident snake, but she saw the gang as her pack and would defend them with the ferocity of a cornered reptile. She was not _currently_ visible, but Freya had gotten used to that.

As she and Flashbang touched down, Freya waved to Eret and Annika with a smile. At that moment a girly scream sprang through the air, interrupting Rod and Gunnar's conversation and Sparkle's nap. Buttnut had just dropped a wet rubber snake onto Spitlout. After calming down the ensuing chaos, Freya got down to business.

"Ok, so, the reason I called this meeting is because I have an idea"

"Again" came from Spitlout's corner.

Freya shot a glare at the young Viking, then continued "Remember all of those stories our parents told us of when they were our age and they went out looking for new dragons and stuff? All by their selves?"

Most of them nodded.

"Well, if my dad is ok with it, do you guys want to form up a team and go on a bunch of 'mapping expeditions' to explore around New Berk? It'll be just like a bunch of cool camping trips! We might even discover a new dragon or something!"

Buttnut dug something out of his ear. "Aaaauuhhh… where would we go?"

Annika shook her head. "Buttnut's in. ('I am?') So sure, if your parents agree to it. We went on that camping trip last year without much of a hitch."

"True. What about the rest of you guys?"

"Yeah." "Sure." "Sounds fun." "Who'll be in charge!?" "I'm in. Wait, what?"

They all looked at Spitlout. "Well? It's an important question for an organized expedition! And don't go saying 'the chief's daughter of course!' when you all know it should be a real Viking with actual leadership qualities…like ME."

Rod snickered. "'real leadership qualities' he says. Of course, it'll be Freya you nitwit. It's her idea, her expedition. Now shut up and let her finish."

Spitlout sat down with a humph.

Freya took a breath. "Great! So, it's decided. As soon as Dad says yes, we're off. I'll let you guys know when to start packing."

Gunnar cocked his head "You seem to be really sure you'll get your dad to just let a bunch of teenagers fly off with dragons into the middle of nowhere. How do you plan to get him to agree?"

Freya smiled innocently. "Simple. I'll persuade Mom first."


	6. Chapter 5- Re-Arming

**Chapter 5- Re-Arming**

Gunnar was in the Blacksmith shop again. After Chief Hiccup had authorized Freya's mapping expeditions, (they just had to wait until next Spring to start), he had turned some serious thought to replacing his weapons that he had lost on that cliff a couple months ago. After locating a good straight seasoned Yew stave in a barn, he had stripped it and two smaller oak saplings of bark, cleaned and oiled them, then placed them in a form that his friend Rod had helped him make. Now that the next step for the bows was to wait for them to finish seasoning, Gunnar turned his attention to replacing his sword. Although Gobber had given him a decent Viking blade for the time being, something in it didn't sit right in his hand.

Given that the Berkians have access to a few… interesting metals, he and Rod had turned to Gobber to begin experimenting on both blade composition and design. They had experimented with multiple different combinations of metals and forging techniques, all of the while ignoring Valka's protests about Gunnar's arm and leg. He knew that this exercise was going to be instrumental to ensuring that he didn't have to re-build to much strength once he had finished healing.

The trio were now looking at about a dozen knives and short swords in various stages of damage from testing.

"Well," Rod said, still looking at the well organized and labeled tests, "which one are you thinking? We've been doing a lot of tests and we're going to have to start forging pretty soon."

"Yeah… I'm thinking I definitely like that quick-tempered Gronckle-iron blade, but the question is what metal I want the core of my sword to be."

Gobber scratched his chin with his hook. "Mmm. I guess you're looking for the right weight and core structure metal, am I right?"

"Exactly. And the weight has to be perfect. Not to heavy so I can't get the blade where I want it to go fast enough, but not to light as to not do the damage I need it to do."

"Eh. Tough one." The seasoned forgesmith studied the knives in front of him for a second. "Mind if I make a wee suggestion?"

Gunnar shrugged. "Go right ahead."

"I'd suggest this steel right here." He tapped a bright silvery bar with his hook. "The Bright Steel. The Wingmaidens use it for forging their lightweight armor and weapons. It _is_ slightly brittle, but quite strong and not the weight of a Hotburble, like normal iron. I think it'll do the job and get the weight right. _If_ ye forge it correctly."

"Hm. Well, you _are_ the expert around here." He turned to Rod. "You wanna go for it?" He asked with a grin.

Rod grinned back. "Let's go for it. I've already got your designs drawn out and everything. All we need to do is get forging."

"Awesome. I will admit, I've missed the smell of molten metal."

"Oh, I bet you have."

They worked on the sword for the next week, from sunup to sundown. Freya stopped by once to see where the two of them had disappeared to, took one look at their singed eyebrows, leather aprons, and happily faces, then rolled her eyes and left. They didn't care.

Gunnar was in charge of the blade of the sword. He first started with a rough lump of iron that had a lot of nickel and impurities, retrieved from a nearby Whispering Death tunnel. He had to get rid of as much of the impurities as possible. So, he first heated up the ingot, then smashed it (which got rid of a good amount of the unwanted materiel right then and there). Due to its impure form, it shattered. After gathering the pieces, he ran it through a simple hot charcoal filter. The what came out of the bottom was then ready for forging.

After gathering the pieces from the filter, Gunnar began the forging process. First, he gathered the best hunks of the ingot and stacked them on a pre-prepared paddle. He then covered the stack with an ash-clay coating. This coating would help keep a lot of the carbon in and help the iron-nickel mixture turn into steel.

After heating the stack, he pounded it into a bar, cut it almost in half, folded it, re-applied the clay-ash mixture, and repeated the process. Once this had been done a couple more times, it was ready for the next step. After hammering out the fresh made steel into a rough bar, it was cut into three even sections. Each section was then well twisted, hammered just enough to give it back its square shape, then stacked on top of each other. This stack was then heated given a very rough point.

Rod was in charge of the Gronckle Iron blade. After heating up and purifying a stack of ingots, he pounded them down into single ingot. After folding it about three times, he hammered it out into about an inch think square bar. Heating this bar up, he bent it evenly around Gunnar's completed core to form the sword's blade. Then the _real_ work began.

Taking turns wielding the sledge hammer and the tongs, the form of the blade was slowly hammered out. Once completed, the blade was tempered, then Gunnar began the long process of grinding, etching, and sharpening the blade while Rod began work on the grip, hand-guard, and pommel.

Once the blade had cooled from heat treatment in the forge's kiln, Gunnar began hand polishing the blade with special stones taken from Dragon Island. After he had achieved the beginning of a good gleam, he carefully drew out the design and words on the blade with an acid-resistant clay. Once the clay had dried, Rod bathed it in a special diluted Changewing acid mixture to eat away a little bit of the surface of the metal, then dried off the freshly-etched blade and Gunnar did a little finger-polishing to touch it up.

Finally, to draw out the last of the pattern, Gunnar gave it one more run down with an iron-oxide and fish oil polish, then washed off the blade and it was done. Now all that was left was to assemble the blade with the pommel, handle, and hand guard.

It was a beautiful weapon. Measuring about 3.5 feet from pommel to tip, the sword had a hand-and-a-half handle wrapped in black leather. On the pommel were two dragon teeth, curving toward each other, mounted to the pommel with silver linings. On the hand guard, mounted on either side of the blade right above the grip, was a single red diamond-shaped scale from Shock, polished to a gleaming sheen. The hand guards were slightly shorter than the standard Viking sword, angled upward slightly. Small inch-long sun-rays arched up from the scales on the base of the blade. The blade had a blood grove up to the half-way point with the name of the sword written inside. And due to the twisting used early in the forging the core of the sword had a beautiful red spiral pattern traveling up the center.

Gunnar had christened it Dragonfang- the Brightblade of the North, which both he and Rod thought was a cool name. Freya said it sounded like something from a made-up minstrel song, but it was a fitting, so Gunnar kept it. He soon after made a back-mounted sheath for it out of sturdy leather, darkened iron, and some small design work on the edge, but that was it. He wanted the sheath to hide the sword until it was drawn.

After Dragonfang was completed and sharpened, Gunnar turned his attention to replacing his bow. After the seasoned yew stave he had found earlier was dry from his inspection and oiling, he began carving. First, he drew out the rough shape of his bow on the stave, then carved out the basic shape. He then tested it for evenness, looking for a well-distributed bend along each end of the bow, taking off ever-so-slight shaves wherever he needed to in order to avoid "hinges".

He then heat-treated the bow to harden the wood, added a leather grip, and cut the notches for the string. The bow was still rigidly straight, but as soon as the string was attached it got a very nice curve to it. For storage the bow was put in a waterproof leather wrapping, and the string (with backups) were stored in a waterproof pouch on his belt.

For arrows, Gunnar had been forging heads the entire time he had been working on Dragonfang. He focused on three main types- a multi-purpose leaf-shaped arrow head, a nasty barbed head for hunting big game (both the two- and four-legged varieties), and finally a lot of needle-shaped heads for anti-mail use. Only about one quiver worth of two other types- a case-hardened anti-plate arrow head and a crescent-moon shaped head for rope cutting - was made.

For a quick system of identifying what arrow Gunnar was grabbing in combat, he carved different combos of rings just past the fletch on each arrow shaft. On top of that he also off-set the fletch on the two special heads so he would be able to quickly tell if he had the right arrow or not. Gunnar made a total of about ten quivers worth of arrows for later use.

He used the new bow and practiced with it for about three hours every day during the winter in order to get a good sense on how it and the new arrows felt and shot. He also sparred with anybody who dared (Astrid included) and randomly practiced some of his old sword combos whenever possible to get a good feel on the balance and play of Dragonfang. They had about a good three weeks left of winter before the gang left for their first outing.


	7. Chapter 6- Possibilities

**Chapter 6- Possibilities**

It was a black night. A dark hulking shape glided over the smooth reflective surface. Clouds concealed the moon and the stars, but most importantly the clouds concealed the ships as they moved ever father north. Dreadlac stared intently at the black nothingness ahead of him. Something inside of him kept driving him North. He knew that great power awaited him. Ever since the first of many reports of that damn Outlaw's raids came back three years ago saying that he had been riding a scaled, flying, fire-breathing snake, he knew that more of them awaited him up North. He had sent out countless forays trying to capture the Outlaw and his Firehawk, but none so far had worked.

Now with his fleet resupplied and another village burning behind him, the trail was getting hotter. There had been stories from merchants who had been unlucky enough to be caught when the village was raided that had heard of dragons. This was all the confirmation Dreadlac needed. He was heading in the right direction. He was getting closer to his destiny.

Weeks later his fleet found the first evidence of firehawks. A group of his foragers reported finding scorch and talon marks in the forest of some island, along with a variety of huge scales lying about. A good sign. He was getting closer.

About 5 days after that, one of his forward scout sloops caught a strange Viking ship. The captain of the sloop escorted the captured crew to Dreadlac personally. Dreadlac was in his captain's courters of his flagship when the group arrived. The captain of the Viking ship, a stalwart evil-looking man, was the only person of the 5-man crew who didn't look terrified.

Dreadlac looked up at the leader of the captured Vikings, slowly staring at the man until he started to fidget. "Identify yourselves." He said slowly, in a dangerous, deep voice.

"My name is Gunvor, capt'an of the dragon hunter ship _The Wing Reaper._ Who are ya and what are ya doin' here?"

"_I_… will ask the questions. Hmm. A _dragon_ hunter ship, you say? Are there _dragons_ around here?"

"Aye. Tousands. But tey're hard to come by. What's it te ya?"

"I need dragons… for my own purposes. Where do I find them?"

"Well, there's a handful around these parts, but most of them are up North, guarded by an Alpha."

"Mm. That is of no concern."

All of the captured crew, despite their obvious terror, started _laughing_.

"Ha! 'of no concern' 'e says. Yeah, ya definitely aren't from around 'ere. Listen, I mean no disrespect ta someone as powerful as ya, but listen 'ere. If you think ya are gonna just go up North with ya big fleet of dumb Southerners and catch ya'selves a bunch of dragons and fight off the Blue Demon 'imself, ya gonna 'ave one nasty surprise awaitin'ya. Ya have no idea what ya are doin' with these stupid beasts. Those Berkians and their dragons have destroyed more massive fleets than I could count, one of 'em being ours. You won't fare any betta."

"_How_… I destroy Berk is none of your concern. I've handled worse before."

"Not wi' anyone like this, mate. Legends says that the only way to get ta New Berk is by flying dragons up to the top of an island that goes 'igher than the clouds. And the legends are true. I've seen their island. Ya won't know where _they_ are commin' from."

Hmm. Dreadlac studied the brazen captain. He was skilled in reading people. Finding their weaknesses. This man was telling the truth, he could see. Why? Dreadlac grinned to himself. This man he could use. Obviously, there were Vikings that have tamed dragons before him and have found out how to control them. Maybe he could get this man to work for him.

"Hmm... Perhaps you are right. I have a proposition for you, Gunvor. I. Want. Dragons. There firepower… there destructiveness… for my own use. You want dragons for your own purposes. I have the army. The fleet. The resources. The riches. You… have the knowledge of how to harness these… _beasts_. How to control them. What if I… _hired_ your services to help me get rid of these Berkians, and then we help ourselves to the dragons that are left. Hmm?"

Gunvor was no fool. He had served under Drago all of those years ago and he knew what a planned 'get-my-use-out-of-you-then-kill-you-because-you-know-too-much' looked like. At the same time, this was a proposition he couldn't say no to. He'd have to play this one carefully. "Eeeehhhh. Well, if you could guarantee the Berkians' removal from ta equation then we're in."

Dreadlac grinned under his thick, black beard. "Sounds like a deal."


	8. Chapter 7- Friends

_This chapter is a little long, but i wanted to show how much Gunnar and Freya's relationship has improved over the past year. I decided against going into the details of their previous adventures together, since that was a slight deviation from the central story, but i still had to show that they had become very close and reliant on each other over that same time period. Anyways, I'm not sure how well i accomplished that, but here you go. _

**Chapter 7- Friends**

"WOOOO-HOO-HOO-HOOOO!"

Gunnar shook his head and laughed to himself. These guys. Freya was doing loop-de-loops through the air in her normal pure happiness. Spitlout and Eret were having an argument about something, Buttnut was trying to tie something to Galerider's tail, and Annika was talking to Rod (again). It had been about a year since their first trip out, and Gunnar was feeling right at home.

It had been a long, interesting, and fun year overall, and Gunnar was looking forward to their second trip, this time heading in a more southerly direction. He double-checked his gear. Bow and arrows, check. Sword, check. Extra quivers, check. Food, check. Dagger, check. Tent, check. Medical supplies… did he pack the Night Fury spit jars?

"Gunnar, you _did _pack everything. Get your head out of your backpack and enjoy this beautiful day!" Freya yelled as she took a second out of her joyful maneuvering to shout at him and then disappeared into the clouds above. He grinned and gave chase.

They made camp that evening on an open grass plain crowning a majestic cliff face. After bedding down their dragons, most of the camp went right to sleep. Well, Breka and Eret went right to sleep due to their raucous snoring. Buttnut wasn't asleep yet. He and Spitlout were busy trying to mimic the already extremely bothersome noise. But he soon dropped off himself, as did the Jorgensen. Rod and Annika were in their own little corner of the camp talking about something that Annika thought was hilarious, leaving Gunnar and Freya by themselves staring into the fire.

"How have you been doin'?" Freya asked, hugging her knees. It seemed to her that Gunnar wouldn't stop dramatically staring into the fire and actually say something. "You seemed to be more chipper then when you first showed up. It's been pretty noticeable."

Gunnar blinked out of his thoughts and smiled at her. "Yeah, I bet it has. Well, I can thank all of these guys here for that. But you especially. I honestly have never been this happy in… well, a while."

"What happened?"

"What do you mean, what happened?"

"You know. I mean what happened back when you were happy."

"You know already."

"I already know what you'll tell me. But you haven't told me everything yet. You've left something important out, I can tell."

"Really? How can you tell?"

"Women always can."

"Oh." He paused, grimacing into the fire, trying to fish out those memories without too much pain. "Well, I don't really want to talk about it. Not yet, at least. I know it's been a couple years since it happened, but… It was ever so slightly traumatic, and I'd rather spend this pleasant evening doing something else."

Freya sighed disappointedly. She would have to find out about _that_ secret later. "I can respect that. Sorry for bringing it up."

"You're fine. As long as you're here, I can't get too into it."

They stared into the fire a little more, listening to the other pair's whispered conversation. Freya broke the silence again.

"What're you thinking about?"

"Well… trying to figure out what I'm doing here. Not like here, here, but more like here at Berk. I've always found in my travels that everything happens for a reason. I helped defend a merchant convoy when I was 12 and that helped me find a home. A uh… _different_ major event turned me into the Outlaw and being the Outlaw has allowed me to help a lot of people- and end up here. But that stage is done. I'm over with it. So that begs the question: what's next? All of the skills that I have… well, let's just say they're not too useful in such a peaceful place like this."

"That's ridiculous. You would have had to learn _something_ useful that doesn't involve war. Something like… better awareness, right? Or… well, you did do a really good job making your sword, and you know how to help heal someone up. Like that time you bandaged Buttnut up after he fell of that cliff last trip! And you're a _great_ cook! Some of those meals that you've made have almost made me fat."

Gunnar laughed. "I guess you're right. But I guarantee you, _you_, of all people, will _never_ be fat."

She sniffed in mock haughtiness. "That is correct. And you're a really good hunter with that bow of yours. I still don't know how somebody can shoot like that! Do all Irishmen have that skill?"

He grinned. "No, it's called practice. I've been handling a bow for as long as I can remember. You want to give it a shot?"

"What, use your bow?"

"Yeah. If I teach you how to use it, it might come in handy someday. Maybe I could even teach you a trick or two."

She jumped up. "Really! Would you mind? I've really only ever used crappy dragon hunter crossbows before."

He looked up at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Why do you think I was lugging around that quiver-full of blunts?"

As Freya set up a target on one side of the firelight Gunnar took his bow out from its protective wrapping and strung it. He stabbed roughly 15 arrows into the ground 20 feet away from the propped-up shield and waved her over.

"Ok. Here it is. Bend it a couple times just to get a feel for it."

Freya carefully brought the bow up to shoulder height and drew the string back.

As she did the seasoned archer made slight adjustments for her as he walked her through the process. "Ok, that's good, so what you want to do is pull the string so that your hand is touching your cheek right below your ear and tilt your head a little bit more to the right. Perfect. So, you can either pinch the string between your thumb and forefinger, or you can hook it with your ring and index fingers."

"I like the first two fingers."

Gunnar smiled as he reached behind himself. "Good pick. Here's an arrow. Since you're just beginning, put the shaft on the left side of the bow handle. What you're going to do is pull it back just like before, but this time put your left forefinger out and rest the arrow on that, sight down the shaft, and let fly when you're ready."

Freya had her tongue sticking out in concentration as she stared at the shield. She fired. The bow made a sharp 'poom' sound and the arrow wobbled through the air. It landed in the left half of the shield.

"I hit it! Ha-ha! Yes!"

Gunnar grinned. "Not a bad shot for your first try. Here's another one."

They stayed up for a few more hours after that, going through Gunnar's stock of training arrows multiple times. Freya was a fast learner. Although she hadn't developed anything near the instinctive aim or the rapid fire that Gunnar had developed through years of (pass/fail) practice, she quickly grasped the basics and was regularly hitting the target at 25 yards by the end of the night. She was quite obviously hooked on archery. So much so that Gunnar was already making plans on starting a bow for her when they got back. She's gonna love that, he thought.

They fell asleep long after everyone else, both of them happily dreaming next to their dragons.

/

The next morning, they were off early and arrived at Itchy Armpit that evening. Using it as a jumping off point, they began heading South East, charting every major plot of land they came across, and also looking for any dragon enclaves on each of the islands. If they could chart what dragons lived there, they could get a better idea on where the dragon kingdom's southern border was. As they slowly made their way across the bottom of Freya's map, the number of dragons they were coming across started to decrease exponentially.

This fact came up while they were on one particularly queer-shaped island Annika was having trouble drawing. As most of the gang was laying around waiting for Annika to wrap up her sketching, Freya and Gunnar went wondering around the island.

Freya was glancing around worriedly, her normal cheerful demeanor missing. "This place doesn't seem right. There should be a _lot_ of dragons here."

Gunnar tilted his head. "How can you tell?"

"Think about it. There's a good source of food here. Plenty of fish and boars. It's forested with a nice, dry, cave system on the south end of the island. Honestly, it's a very nice place with clear evidence that dragons _used_ to be here, but there aren't any. And I can't figure out why."

"Huh. It's probably just too far south. Wait, there 'were' dragons here?"

"Yeah, a lot of them. Look at the circular patches of flowers. Grown from old burn marks. The lower branches of the trees are either missing or bent. There's also a couple faded gashes on those rocks. Looks like Gronckle bite marks."

Gunnar nodded. He wasn't looking at the branches or the flowers. He was looking at something else. He stooped down and pulled an arrow out from the bushes on the side of the clearing.

"Well, this might have an explanation."

"A dragon hunter arrow? I thought they were all gone!"

As Freya curiously studied the ugly-looking weapon, Gunnar took a closer look at the clearing. He started to walk farther to the other edge of the island.

"Gunnar! Where are you going?!"

"Freya."

"What?"

"Come here."

Freya walked over to where Gunnar was standing, studying something in the bay below him.

A black ship, patterned a bit like a Viking longship with an extra hull attached to the side, lay at anchor in the bay. Spikes lined the shields hung on the railing, and large, empty cages lay on the deck. Rough-looking armed men roamed about on the beach and on the deck, clothed in dirty clothes and leather jerkins.

"A dragon hunter ship." Freya breathed.


	9. Chapter 8- The Attack

**Chapter 8- The Attack**

The group lay on their bellies staring down at the ship below them.

"I say we blow it up." Spitlout said with a grin, smashing his fist into his hand.

"I say that's the best idea I've heard all day!" Buttnut virtually yelled. He was promptly shushed by everybody else at once.

After rolling her eyes, Breka seconded the notion.

"Quiet down! If we decide to blow them up, we'll let you know first." Rod said. "So, what are you guys thinking?"

Freya shrugged. "I dunno. It doesn't look like they have any dragons at present. I'm pretty sure they cleaned this island off, but that was obviously a while ago. What do you think, Ann?"

"If there aren't any dragons to rescue, then I don't think it is a good idea to engage." Spitlout looked at his sister in a combination of surprise and disgust, which Annika was quick to catch. "What? I know it's not what a Jorgenson would say, but I'm just trying to use my head!"

Rod nodded. "Which is something else they don't do. You have a good point Ann, but I don't like the idea of just letting these thugs roam about out here. We do have way more than enough firepower to handle one ship."

"This technically isn't our territory, you know that Rod." Annika said, giving him a stern look. "We don't have the authority to just randomly attack them."

Rod sighed. "Another good point. What about you Gunnar?"

Gunnar had his eye stuck to Freya's telescope, scanning the beach and the ship. "Yeah… I'm just gonna stay neutral on this on- hold on a second." He froze. His grin from Spitlout's comment had just vanished faster than a hunk of quartzite in a hole full of hungry Hot Burbles.

"Gunnar, what's wrong?"

"Freya, that hunter standing next to the tiller… does that look like a normal dragon hunter to you?"

Freya took her glass back and studied the aft portion of the ship. She quickly picked out the guy Gunnar was talking about. He was larger than most of the other men, with a chainmail mask covering his face. But what stood out to her was that his helmet, instead of having spikes on the crest like normal, had horns mounted on each side of his forehead. She had never seen a set-up like that before… except. She looked at Gunnar, who looked grim.

"Is that who I'm thinking it is?"

"One of Dreadlac's raiders? Yep. Freya, we've got to see what he's doin' with those dragon hunters. If they're working together…"

"…that's not good, right?"

"Very not good."

"What do you want to do?"

Gunnar shrugged. "Well, you're in charge, but ah…" he drew his sword. "I want to go talk to that guy."

"Oh. Well, I will say, we _do_ more than enough firepower to take out that ship." Freya looked pointedly at the rest of the group.

Spitlout grinned mischievously.

"Heh-heh-heh-heh. Oh, we will deliver."

Freya nodded. "All right. Listen up gang! Here's the plan: we'll send in… wait- Spitlout! Buttnut! Breka? What are you guys doing?!"

The three of them had ran over to their dragons, mounted up, and then preceded to hurl themselves off of the cliff right at the beachhead. Freya rolled her eyes. "Well, there goes stealth! Gunnar! You go get your guy! The rest of us will destroy that ship and trap them!"

Gunnar nodded then made a dash for Shock, stringing his bow as he ran. Freya jumped onto Flashes' saddle and rocketed into the sky, leading the others by a mere second.

"Eret! Rod! You're in charge of making sure none of them escape farther inland! ('Got it!') Annika! You're on overwatch! No tricks from them! ('No tricks! Right!')"

The battle had started. The Hunters had been completely caught off guard by the suddenness of Freya's onslaught, with some of their men on the beach and only a handful on their ship. But unbeknownst to the her and her riders, many of these hunters were hardened fighters, veterans of Drago's army and the warlord's fleet way back before New Berk was populated. And the ship was not without fangs: sophisticated ballistae and net-launching catapults littered the deck of the spiked vessel.

But the weapons were not maned- yet. Spitlout, Buttnut, and Breka were the first riders to impact, sending sound blasts across the beach, and drenching the ship in pools of flaming napalm and lava. Rod and Eret Jr then hit the beach, both of them drenching the stunned occupants with streams of bright green acid and tornadoes of concentrated firepower. And the third strike was heralded by a banshee-like scream, as Flashbang and Freya herself streaked over the water at wave-height, blasting an incredibly powerful plasma bolt straight into the reinforced sides of the hulking ship, beginning its slow death plunge to the bottom. All the while Annika's sharp eyes and Sparklegrunt's blasts were disabling many of the remaining war machines.

Freya saw Gunnar silently watching from the cliff edge, as both he and his dragon looked for any signs of the spiked helm of that Dreadlacian soldier to appear in the chaos. There! Before Gunnar had to give Shock a command the great red-and-black Nadder was diving in on the unsuspecting trooper, who had just emerged from belowdecks and was trying to process what had just hit the ship.

The soldier soon had bigger problems to worry about, as he suddenly was dangling from the monstrous claws of a dragon and hurling toward the sky, legs flailing.

Good, Freya thought, he got him. So far so good. Suddenly there was a scream from above her. Some hunter, obviously a bit pissed, had taken his dragon-root arrows and fired at the only dragon staying anywhere close to 'still'- Annika and her high-flying Hobblegrunt.

Bigger problems compounded the falling dragon rider. Freya saw Gunnar waving his arms and pointing to the other side of a spur of land- and to the bows of two more ships appearing around it. Crap! She should have thought to have a look around before launching her attack. Now she would have to deal with two more well-armed ships. She looked down on Annika again. She and her dragon had been caught by Rod and Galerider, and the two of them were now heading toward the safety of the cliff edge.

The newcomers were opening fire. Buttnut and Burp got hit with a net in the first volley and that effectively took Breka and Eret out of the action as the two of them attempted to get the big Thunderdrum and his rider out of the tangle. That left just herself, Gunnar, Spitlout, and Rod left to deal with the oncoming ships. It was apparent that it was time to clear out. And although a Nightlight, a Titanwing Nadder, a Monstrous Nightmare, and a Stormcutter could probably take those ships on, Freya didn't want to risk any actual casualties.

"Spitlout! Rod! On me! We gotta cover those three long enough for them to get Burp cut loose!"

Rod nodded. "I'll go for their sails!"

"And I'll go for everything else!" Spitlout yelled, as his huge Monstrous Nightmare dove toward the ships in a flaming ball of fury.

As Freya rocket-climbed for altitude she saw Gunnar shooting his bow from Shock's back. It looked like he was shooting the ballistae strings to disable them. It was confirmed when she saw a taunt ballista, aimed at Hookfire, suddenly jerk and fling its yelling crewmembers across the deck and its payload into the water.

She reached the apex of her climb. Flashbang growled. "Go for the rear one's crew compartment, girl." Flash yowled in response and dove toward the ships, the first of which was already aflame from Spitlout's onslaught. She could hear him now: "_Spit_lout! _Spit_lout! Oi!-Oi!-Oi!".

She passed over the first ship and delivered a shrieking plasma ball into the command cabin of the second ship. Just as she pitched up to regain altitude, she heard over the noise Gunnar shouting a warning.

Then everything went black.


	10. Chapter 9- Discoveries

**Chapter 9- Discoveries**

KABOOM!

Gunnar saw the aft portion of the rear ship explode from Flash's bolt flying directly through an open window, and he saw the white streak bend upward directly afterward. But he also saw a grizzled ugly-looking dragon hunter on the foredeck raise his crossbow, aim for above Flash's nose, and let loose. Gunnar's yell came too late. The stone bola flew through the air and he saw one end impact Freya's head, the other smashing into Flash's wing and knocking rider from dragon and dragon from sky.

At that same moment, a Thunderdrum's roar broke through the air. Burp was free and all the riders, oblivious to what was taking place, were flying toward Annika and the cliff edge. The completely oblivious Spitlout was doing the same, and the only other rider who realized what was going on was Rod.

Freya was apparently unconscious and falling toward the ship. Gunnar hesitated for just a second. He saw more horned soldiers on board, and if he went in there, they would find out who he was and that he was still alive. Which meant trouble. But in a second, he and Shock had dumped the guy they had and was diving in on the boat. He saw out of the corner of his eye Flash catch herself and look around wildly for her rider, still in a bit of a daze at what just happened.

As he dove he also saw Rod re-engage the fore-most ship with a fury, intent on distracting its gunners from Shock hurling down on their sister-ship. They were close now. The crew was attempting to pull their captured rider into the hull of the ship, intent on keeping their prize. Gunnar had other ideas.

Seconds before impact, Gunnar loosed a broad-bladed arrow that flew right through the offending crossbowman's throat and into the chest of another bowman attempting to shoot Shock. Leaping off his fire-breathing dragon, Gunnar drew Dragonfang and his long knife, flipping down his visor as he hurled down into the packed wall of Hunters between him and Freya.

Engaging the first fighter, Gunnar had him dispatched within seconds and flawlessly spun into the next two, stabbing one with a lighting thrust with Dragonfang and flinging his knife into the face of the other. Jumping over the falling bodies of those two he proceeded to block a downward stroke from another hunter, whom he dispatched with his freshly-removed knife. Leaping up into the air with his momentum, an oncoming rush of hunters and soldiers was met with a hail of poisoned Nadder spines flying underneath Gunnar, which felled them like a scythe through grass. Gunnar was back in among them before that batch had fallen, swinging his blade to and fro through the crowd.

Suddenly the ship jerked to the right, dumping all but the most sure-footed onto the decks or into the churning water below. Rod's huge royal blue Stormcutter had just impacted the left of the ship, tilting it dangerously. Gunnar continued to run toward the what remained of the aft of the ship, cutting down all who stood in his way. Scooping up the still- unconscious Freya, he leapt off of the back of the ship and onto Shock's waiting back, just in time to avoid the humongous blast as an incredibly angry Light fury blasted the ship with her full power. Then all three disappeared over the cliff edge.

Landing amongst the huddle of riders, Gunnar flipped his visor up and gently placed Freya, still out cold, on the ground.

Spitlout looked in surprise at the limp form. "Wow. What happened to _her_?"

Gunnar shrugged, trying to look a _little_ un-shaken at what just almost happened. "Got hit on the head by a bola. She's fine, she's just out." He carefully shook her, trying to wake her up.

There was a gasp from above him, then a canteen-full of water splashed all over Freya's face (and Gunnar), waking her up spluttering. Buttnut was watching her with an extremely happy face and an empty canteen. "I've always wanted to dump water on her head! It's been a fascination of mine since childhood."

"You- have problems. How are you feeling, Freya?"

The Viking sat up and gingerly held the back of her head. "Ugh. Ooohhh. Fine, I guess. My head _hurts_. What happened?" Her fingers found the impact point and her eyebrows went up at the size of the lump.

Eret shrugged. "Somebody got lucky with a mini-bola launcher and nailed your head. You fell on that ship and Gunnar went in and got you out. It was pretty epic to watch, actually."

Freya blushed. "Oh. Well, thanks. Is anybody else hurt?"

Rod shook his head. "Nope. Besides getting jumped by those two other ships, I'd say that was a pretty smooth operation. We do need to get moving soon, though. I don't like being so close to those ships and their pissed crews."

Gunnar nodded. "Yeah, I agree one hundred percent. Anyways, we gotta get back to Berk and let the Chief know."

Breka tilted her head. "About what? That we attacked some dragon hunter ships?"

Gunnar sighed. "I wish. We gotta tell him about those Dreadlacian soldiers we found on board. They were working together, and unless we're unimaginably lucky, somebody's gonna find out I was there. Aaaannndd, that's not good. REALLY not good."

"Why is that not good?"

"Because… Reasons." He looked pointedly at Freya, as if to ask her if she remembered their first conversation all of those months ago.

Freya blanched. "Yeah, lets head back to Berk and talk to Dad."

"Sounds like a plan."

/

The Huscarl captain looked at what remained of his band of raiders in the aftermath of the Dragon Rider's attack. Despite the fact that he considered it a 'warming up' scrap, something that he had seen- that all of his men had seen- was haunting him. He had seen that great red-and-black firehawk before. He turned to his second-in-command, the lieutenant of the first ship to be ambushed.

"Are you sure?" the captain said in a raspy voice. He had been yelling to much again.

"Yes. 100%. All of the lads saw 'im. 'es still alive. I don't know how, but he's alive and is apparently working with dese dad-blasted dragon riders. Oi'm tellin' you, we gotta let Dreadlac know. And fast."

"Not without physical proof. He isn't gonna believe us unless we have something solid to prove we didn't just see a different red and black Nadder."

This stumped the little group. They all stood around in their circle, sure of what they saw, but not sure on how to procced. A dragon hunter walked up to the group.

"'ey! You guys! We figah'd ya might find this intrestin'! Found it in the body of the guy 'o shot that one rida down. Neva' seen one like it befa."

Into the circle was thrown the proof that the captain needed. All it was was an unusually long arrow, with a broad head and green fletching. But what made the entire group recoil in disgust was the fact that the arrow had small rings carved near the fletching, and the feathers themselves were cut in a unique shape that they had seen sticking out of dozens of their comrades. Back in the days of terror. The captain slowly looked up at his number two. The man looked sick.

"_That_… is an Outlaw arrow, or I'm a sea snake. We gotta tell Dreadlac right away. The Butcher is still alive and he's working with the Dragon Ridahs."

/

They were back at Berk within 3 days of tough flying. Gunnar was grim the entire trip, contemplating the implications of that unfortunate encounter. They landed in the central courtyard, where the chief was busy working with the ageing Gobber in the forge.

"Freya! What are you doing back so soon, sweetie?" Hiccup said, coming out of the building. His cheerful demeanor stiffened at the somber faces of the group. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Dad… We have a problem."

/

"… so, to cut a long story short, we've got Dreadlac hiring dragon hunters to help him build his army, and he's gonna be heading this way soon."

Hiccup frowned. Freya, Gobber, Aker, Astrid, Valka, Gunnar, and a few other trusted advisors were gathered around the central fire in the Great Hall. "So, you're saying, we might have a major invasion on our hands of _both_ a huge fleet of bloodthirsty soldiers _and _the dragon hunters?"

Gunnar sighed and shrugged. "Unless we lucked out and Dreadlac doesn't find out I'm alive. But honestly, he would've come eventually. I think all this did was speed him up. Listen, this is all my fault. I shouldn't have dove onto that ship."

Hiccup held up his hand. "No matter what happens, don't think that. You made the right decision and got my daughter out of a tough situation. And if what you say is true, he would've come anyways. All your arrival did was give us forewarning. Anyways, back to the issue." He paused, staring at the map laid out in front of him. He looked up somberly.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, it appears that our long period of beloved peace is about to slip out of our fingers. I wish I never had to say this, but…"

"We have to begin prepping for war."


	11. Chapter 10- Preparations

_So, this chapter jumps probably a good year after the last chapter. The reason for the big stretch is because I wanted to stick to the central story of Gunnar and Dreadlac. Plenty of smaller side stories took place during the period, but all of those are semi-unimportant side adventures that i want to get to at some point, but Hiccup summarized the important events skipped over well enough to continue the story._

_And on a separate note, the drunk commander in this chapter is based off of my roommate's antics every Friday night. I don't drink myself, but the hilarious rambles that my roommate does was the inspiration for that little bit. ___The following couple chapters are some of my favorites. _ Enjoy! _

**Chapter 10- Preparations**

It was late. Astrid was already sound asleep, as was Aker. Toothless had left for his family's cave hours ago. Hiccup, however, was still wide awake. He was sitting at his desk, his sketches pushed to the side and lists, invoices, messages, scout reports, and other chiefly paperwork cluttered around the area, on the floor as well as the desk. He couldn't sleep. It had been almost 13 long months since Freya's expedition had come back with the warning. Since then he had begun fortifying his beautiful village, re-stocking armories and storehouses, sending out scouts, and raiding dragon hunter ships where ever his riders could find them.

He had worked his entire chiefhood to avoid war. And besides the fight against Grimmel early on, he had been rather successful. After that battle, the dragon hunters had dispersed almost entirely, leaving the Archipelago in a state of prosperous peace. But he guessed all good things must come to an end at some point.

Hiccup was tired. It was getting high time to let Aker take over, and although his son was ready, he couldn't. Hiccup wouldn't put the stresses of leading a tribe at war on his fresh son's shoulders. Which meant he had to keep bearing that burden until the war was over. And the main problem was that it was taking an insufferably long time for his opponent to make a move.

He had a hard time believing Dreadlac was taking so long to prepare. But that's what his scouts had been reporting. Endless build-up, more and more troops, and more and more ships. It seemed as if Dreadlac was aware who his biggest opponent was going to be in the Archipelago and was planning on swamping them. He didn't know. That was his wife's area of expertise.

Astrid seemed to be taking this pretty well. Life had sorta moved on and settled back down into a solid rhythm for her, with all of the preparations just being another item to scratch off her to-do list. In fact, it seemed as if he was the only person in Berk constantly worried about the possibility of being hurled into war. Mom was doing just fine, exploring and giving advice when necessary. Aker was completely fine with the delay to his chieftainship and was helping out where ever he could. That kid was going to do a good job as chief- Hiccup could tell.

And Freya hadn't lost any of her usual spunk and happiness. Although she and her gang had been Hiccup's main strike force against the Dreadlac and the dragon hunters, it didn't seem as if she was stressed at all. She and Gunnar had officially tied the knot about 8 months ago, but he was the only Viking on Berk surprised at that. Hiccup was fine with it, though. Gunnar was solid man and very loyal. He had been working almost as hard as Hiccup had been with the villages' preparations and he was learning surprisingly fast everything the Dragon Training Academy had to offer.

The 42-year-old chief sighed wearily. He should go to sleep. He had to survey the island's perimeter defenses that Astrid had been busy constructing for the past couple months _and_ leave for a grand inter-tribal council tomorrow. Yeah. He should go to bed. He snuffed out the candle and curled up under the covers and was soon sound asleep.

/

The invisible dragon quietly hissed. Eret could see out of the corner of Acid's cloaked wing the shape of two Dreadlacian soldiers walking within inches of his position. He grinned. His dragon has got to be the most useful dragon for spying possible. The two of them waited until the pair was well away, and then Eret slipped out of Acid's concealing wings.

"Thanks, girl." He whispered. Crouching low, he moved silently along the path toward a major encampment. Hoark, who was in charge of keeping an eye on Dreadlac's main force, had reported that a huge number of messengers had departed the camp all at once, not two days ago. One of those messages would have reached this camp at some point yesterday… Eret was determined to get his hands on the contents.

He climbed a portion of the wooded palisade and dropped down into the camp below, with the invisible form of Acid right behind him. He flitted through the camp, heading toward the commanders' tent in the center. He was there. Pressing himself up close to the canvas, he squinted his eyes and strained his ears to listen to the talk within. The general was drunk. A good sign. He could hear him mumbling, then yelling incoherently, then mumbling again. Then he heard it. Slurred, but clear.

"uugghh… 'We move in in 3 monsh' time' he shays. 'Thish spring' he shays. *hic* 'Prepare your men' 'e shays. WELL WHAT DO HE THINKSH I'VE BEEN *hic* DOIN' FOR THE PAST *hic* YEAR? FEEDIN' THE FISHIES?!"

Another, obviously bored voice cut in. "I think he thinks you've been getting drunk the entire time."

"pbbpbpbpbth. Obvioshly NOT. Me and me men have been RARIN *hic* to go for monsh now, with nothin' to do BUT *hic* get drunk. We finally get to go KILL *hic* someshin. Finally. _Finally-_finally-finally *hic*… what were we talkin' about?"

"We were talking about how you should go to bed."

"*hic* we _were_? How shhhhhtrange *hic*."

Eret grinned to himself. They were moving this spring. Suddenly he remembered. Chief was supposed to leave for that council tomorrow, and he has to know about this. He's gotta send a Terror mail ASAP. He scribbled down a quick message, then attached it to his Terrible Terror, Streak, and let him go in the middle of camp. Here's hoping they find out in time.

/

Hiccup had just finished his rounds of the island's full-perimeter defenses. "Well, babe, once again the Hoffersons have erected a defensive system that could keep a Screaming Death away."

Astrid beamed. "Yep! Ain't no way any army is gonna get up here without one hell of a fight!"

Hiccup grinned back. His wife's fascination with fortifications even after 20 years of tender motherhood still had him shaking his head. "Yes, once again your captivation for violence is coming in handy."

"And it never will not."

"If you say so."

*thwack*

They were soon back at the house and packing. Hiccup was taking a somewhat small group with him: I.e., just Astrid. Since Aker was going to be in charge while he was gone, and Freya and her team were out raiding, he thought that it would be a good little trip to take to clear his head. Valka had declined the invitation, saying that she wasn't really in the mood for a two-day flight and a day-long meeting filled with boring speeches. Hiccup response was that he wasn't either, but she still decided to stay.

As they sped out of sight, Nadder and Night Fury, Aker gave them one final wave and turned back towards the village. He had barely begun work on his to-do list when his sister and her team landed- along with a Terror mail from Eret Jr. Freya walked up to him just as he read it.

"Hey, Aker!" She paused as she watched his face. "What's wrong?"

"We now know when Dreadlac is going to be making his move and Dad just left for that council."

"Well, crap. Go ahead put it on a different Terror. It should catch up to them before the meeting starts."

Gunnar walked up. "Wait, Dreadlac's finally making a move? But's it's the beginning of winter. That's a horrible time to begin a campaign up here."

"Not this winter, next spring."

Gunnar frowned for a moment. "Then it's about time I paid my old Ireland a visit."

Aker looked at him strangely. "Why?"

"Your dad and I talked about it. We want to sync our fight here with a mass uprising at his home base- Ireland. Hopefully it will remove his supply base and force him to make a mistake. Although, I gotta be the one to go since I'm the only Irishman here. I'll go ahead and pack up. I'll leave tomorrow, with your authorization."

Aker took a second. Then he nodded. "You have my blessing. Good luck."


	12. Chapter 11- Sneaking In

**Chapter 11- Sneaking In**

"I'm coming with you."

Gunnar looked at Freya as he packed a bundle of items into Shock's saddlebags. "Uh, this is going to be extremely dangerous undercover work. The bad guys are going to trying to kill any Viking they can get their hands on. No, I'm not about to risk your life in an environment like that."

"Yeah? Well, two things. One, I'm not about to let you go off into who-knows-where and get killed in that same highly dangerous environment by yourself, and two, how exactly do you plan on keeping me from following you?"

Freya had her stubborn face on. Hiccup said that it looked almost identical to Astrid's. His father-in-law's advice? Give up, resistance would be futile. Gunnar sighed. "Have you been taking lessons from your mother?"

"My entire life."

"Well, if your brother is fine with it, then I'm fine with it."

She brightened up. "Oh, he already agreed! He said that as long as you were fine with it I was clear to go!"

"Wha… Hold on a second."

"Lemme go pack! Oh, it's gonna be so romantic!"

Gunnar stared after his wife as she dashed back into the house to grab her saddlebag. "'Romantic?' An infiltration mission with the possibility of getting caught and burned alive is _romantic_?" He looked at Shock, who just shrugged his wings.

/

The two of them headed south for about two weeks until they caught sight of the town Gunnar was looking for. They landed out of sight and made camp. A small one, no fire, to guard against being discovered.

"We'll walk in tomorrow at about 12. Hopefully the village is still a commerce center that I remember it being." Gunnar said as he pulled out his traveling cloak from Shock's saddlebag.

"Why's that?" Freya asked, as she did the same.

"More people. We'll blend in better with all of the mid-day visitors and merchants. Anyways, the contact we're meeting with is a good friend of mine. She runs a tavern, so strange-looking visitors won't be noticed there."

"Ah. You know this isn't the first time I've been this far south, right?"

"I know hon. But still, it's worth mentioning. Very few of these people have heard of a dragon before, let alone seen one. We have to make sure Flash and Shock stay here."

"Won't be a problem. They're a little tired out."

"Yeah, I figured."

/

The next morning, they rode Flash around the town and dismounted about 2 miles south. After giving Flash a little wave, Freya watched her disappear and fly off back to the campsite.

"So, why'd we fly south of the town?" She asked.

"Just so if anyone notes our arrival it would've seemed as if we came from farther south, not North. A simple trick, but it pays off."

Freya looked at him strangely. Ever since they exited the Archipelago Gunnar had been acting a little weird. Shock to, for that matter. They had insisted that they travel by night (which was understandable), but both of them had become unusually serious and quiet, constantly scanning the ground and checking each other's backs. She didn't like it. Not at all. It was starting to make HER nervous and paranoid.

"Are you OK? You've been acting weird for the past two-three days."

"Weird? Why would I be acting weird?" Gunnar asked, as he pulled out two bandannas from his pack and started smearing each other's armor with mud. She gave him a look as he wrapped his weapons and parts of their armor in a bundle full of loose firewood and branches.

"Why isn't _that_ weird?! You're overreacting!"

"It's not 'overreacting'. This is how I normally function in this type of situation. Undercover. Checking my six. This is occupied territory, and we're wanted insurgents. At least I am. And on top of that, its been two or three years since I've been in these parts- I have no idea what has changed. We have to be careful and blend. You're too conspicuous by the way."

"You just took half of my armor, covered me in mud, and gave me a dilapidated cloak that smells like bear pee. My own brother wouldn't be able to recognize me. How is this too conspicuous?"

"Your hair is too clean, that ax is still showing, you need to wrap that cloak around and make it look more like a dress, get rid of that Viking belt buckle, maybe hunch over a little bit, aaannnnndd…. mm…. something is still off…..."

"This is really-"

"Ah hah! You need an apron. And a basket. Hold on a sec."

Her eyebrows went up. "-ridiculous. An apron? Seriously? You packed an apron?"

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to come so badly. Call me crazy, but we gotta go with what works. Now, here's our story. I'm a lumberjack from up the mountain bringing some firewood to a friend, you're my sister coming into town for a shopping trip. My name is Patrick, call me Paddy for short, and your name is Gerty, short for Gertrude."

"_Ger_trude?"

"Yeah. It's a common name in these parts. Trust me, all of this is gonna come in handy. There're guards at the gate and routine patrols throughout the town. So just play along, keep your head low, follow me, and DON'T attract attention. Got it?"

She looked down sadly at her smeared armor and dirty cloths. She didn't even want to know what her face and hair looked like. "Ehh… OK. Lead the way I guess."

Gunnar smiled at her. "Then let's go."

They walked out of the woods and entered the stream of people heading to and out of the town. After breezing past the masked guards by pretending to have an argument, they were soon inside the town's walls and mingling with the populace. It was a motley mix of hardy people, with the strains of the past few years since the invasion showing clearly on their faces. Despite this, it seemed to Freya that besides the constant dirty looks thrown at the evil-looking soldiers, life had moved on. The market was bustling, drunks were being thrown out of taverns at a normal pace, and people were still roaming about and talking on the doorsteps.

Gunnar didn't notice any of this. He was steering his 'sister' around at a good pace, his eyes endlessly scanning the crowd and the alleyways looking for signs of trouble or patrols. Freya saw him catch the eye of a burly Irishman lounging by the well and also saw them exchange a strange nod. She had seen the man begin to approach the pair threateningly before the signal- but after he returned to his spot as if nothing had happened.

They stopped outside of a well-repaired and clean building, with the sign labeling the building as 'Binsveld Tavern and Inn' hanging over the door. With a casual glance around, Gunnar stepped through the door and she saw his shoulders visibly relax. "We're clear." He said.

The interior was very well organized, with steps in the corner heading to the second floor. A bar stood against the backwall, were a bartender was busy mixing drinks for an assortment of costumers. But what Freya noticed most about the place was that unlike all of the other taverns in the town this one was rather quiet, with no drunks sleeping in the corner, no loud arguments or laughing going on, or any other sign of rowdy crowd. They walked over to a table and sat down. As they did so Gunnar scanned the room. He grunted.

"She's not here. Although by the looks of things she's still kicking."

Freya interrupted as she still marveled at the condition of the building. "I was about to ask you, what is this place? It looks too clean to be a pub, and it doesn't look like it gets the usual crowd."

Gunnar grinned and took a sip of his drink that a young child had brought him.

"Good observation. This tavern/inn is run by a woman known as Milly RaShane, short for Mildred. She's been around here for a while and has been running the place since her husband died about 10-15 years ago. All of the good folks from around here come here to talk and do whatever they need to do. She's built up such a loyal following from among the more- stable of the inhabitants that any trouble maker who shows up here instead of the other joints will get his butt handed to him at high velocity for daring to disturb the peace."

Freya nodded. "I'm impressed. I'd like to meet her at some point. On a separate note, who's your contact that we're supposed to meet up with?"

Gunnar glanced up at one of the stairs and suddenly grinned. "There she is."

"Who, the contact or Milly?"

"Both"


	13. Chapter 12- Meeting Milly

**Chapter 12- Meeting Milly**

Freya turned around and followed the direction of Gunnar's gaze. An old woman, maybe 4 ½ feet tall, was walking down the stairs. Her plain white hair was done up in a traditional manner, and she wore a basic dress and apron, but there was one thing that struck Freya as odd. Although she must have been older than even Valka, she was still walking around surprisingly straight and quite fast. She briskly walked over to the bar, smiling and greeting patrons by name, and turned to address the bartender. She stopped and did a double take in Freya's direction. But she wasn't looking at Freya.

A huge grin broke across her face as she recognized Gunnar.

"Patrick McHartson! Tis been quite awhile since I've had t'pleasure of giving you a drink!" Freya had a hard time understanding her at first due to her thick Irish ascent, but the clear, strong voice helped.

Milly came over and crushed Gunnar in a hug strong enough to make the tall man grunt. Gunnar smiled in genuine warmth at the happy old woman. "Good to see you too, Milly. It's been, what, two years, three?"

"Whatever it is, it's been too long. Where in Dublin's name did you get te? I heard that damn Dreadlac had finally caught ye and your firehawk but I didn't believe it! Not for a second."

He shrugged contemptuously. "Eh, he almost did. And he definitely _thought_ he did."

Milly grinned and winked at Gunner, then caught sight of a flabbergasted Freya still sitting at the table.

"Patrick! Who in t'name of Belfast's green fields is this pretty creature?!"

Freya snapped out of her surprise at Milly's knowledge and smiled at her. "Good to meet you Milly. My name is Freya."

Milly looked approvingly at Freya. "Tis an absolute pleasure to meet'cha, darlin'. Welcome to Binsveld Tavern. Where'ya be from if ye don't mind me askin'? You're obviously not Irish, both by the looks of ya and by the manner of your speakin'."

"She's a Viking from up North. She's a Berkian."

Milly's eyes grew wide. "A _Berkian_ did ya say?" Then she whispered: "Are the stories true?"

Gunnar nodded. "Every bit and more. That's exactly why I'm back down here."

The old Irishwoman suddenly became very serious. "Does this have somethin' t'do with that Black Demon and 'is recent activity?"

Gunnar nodded again. "Aye. -Milly, I need to talk to the leaders of the Sionnaigh."

She glanced around. "That- we'll have t'figure out later Patrick. Now, as you have some filling in t'do for the few years you've been gone, I'm coming up to your room later to talk. In the meantime, is there anything I can get ya'two? I'm assuming ye'll want a room? T'usual?"

"Yes please. And some steak would go down nice. The Vikings don't have real cows."

She chuckled. "Commin' right up. I'll have Joseph prep your normal room. Go ahead and get unpacked. Expect the food in about an hour."

"Sounds like a plan."

Milly nodded and disappeared into the back of the tavern. Freya turned around and looked incredulously at Gunnar. "She knows about Shock? And she knows about _you_?"

Gunnar sat back down. "Yeahep. She's the only one in these parts who knows exactly what is behind that mask of mine. We've been friends for a few years. I came here to get information before raids and to get a little relaxation in between skirmishes. But in all honesty, I couldn't have hid Shock or my identity from her if I tried. She knows everything. Including where you would have to go if you wanted to contact the Irish insurgents- the Sionnaigh (that's Irish for The Foxes)."

"Oh. Why was she so fascinated about the fact that I'm a Berkian? Do people hear stories all the way down here?"

"Mm hmm. Definitely. They've all heard stories of the Outlaw and his 'Firehawk'. Some have seen me and Shock in action. …So many of them know that dragons must exist. But merchants sometimes have big mouths and I'm sure that Trader Johann that you've told me about has been finding much better reception for his stories down here than up North. So, yes, people have been hearing stories of an entire Viking tribe who trains and rides hundreds of firehawks. Rumors have been circulating. Speaking of which! DON'T tell anyone else you're from Berk. That'll draw some attention we don't need." He paused and a shy smile lit his face. "Oh, and one more thing. Freya?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you came. I would've been stinking lonely if I'd have come down here by myself."

Freya smiled at him. "Told ya."

/

After setting up in their new room and introducing Freya to steak (the avid yak-leg fan approved), Freya went off with Joseph to gather the rest of their supplies from their campsite and check on the dragons. Gunnar met with Milly in the now-empty main room after closing. The only other occupants were two young children cleaning up the tables and chairs in preparation for the next day's costumers.

"Ok young man, I'll start."

He took a sip from his tankard with an amused face on. "Fair enough."

"Me main question besides wanting t'know your story and where ye have been for the past two and a half years is simple. You're obviously trying to start a family and settle down. Why in the name of all of Ireland's cattle are you coming back here and dragging her along with 'ye? You shouldn't be getting back into the fightin'. I don't mean t'snap, and I'm ecstatic that you're visiting, but how long have ye been married? A couple months?"

Gunnar sighed. "About 9, actually."

"There ye go. You're all but newlyweds and your idea of a honeymoon is bringing her down into occupied territory and jumping right back inte the fightin'? What are ye thinkin'?!"

"Well, I didn't want her to come along but she came anyways. Vikings are stubborn and she's no exception. But I'm not coming down here to join back up with the resistance, Milly. That's not why I want to talk to them. I'm here on a mission for the Vikings. Listen, you know that Dreadlac has been massing his forces for a major campaign this spring."

"Hon, _everyone_ knows tat."

"Yeah. Well, like you said, I'm trying to settle down on Berk. It's really an amazing place and I like the people, but Berk and its dragons are his next target. He's going to try to swamp them, since he knows full well what they're capable of. And you know what happened the last time I was settled down."

Milly nodded sadly.

"That is NOT happening again. That's why I'm down here. I'm trying to get all of the Viking tribes from around Berk's area to form an alliance. Together, they've got the firepower and the brawn to actually _win_. And so far, it's (sort of) working, but it isn't going to be enough. I need to sync the upcoming campaign with a mass uprising back here. If we time it right, he's going to lose his supply base _and_ line of communication to Ireland when he's in the depth of the campaign." A fierce light echoed in his eyes. "And when it comes down to the final fight… I plan on having Ireland's warriors with me to get their revenge on his army of over-fed cowards. But in order to do that though, I need to talk to the rebel leaders."

Milly studied his earnest face. She said slowly: "Tat makes sense… and it sounds like a solid plan, but ye do realize that trying t'get all of the leaders t'meet in one place is going to be nigh but impossible. We've been under occupation by an iron fist for more tan _six years_. We're too cautious for tat."

"That's why I needed to come down here myself. I'm going to talk with them as the Outlaw… They know and respect him. And Freya, beside wanting to come with me and not making it a choice, is going to be living proof about the existence of Berk and its firepower… you let them know she's down here and they'll come." There was an eager light in his eyes as he leaned forward. "I know our people are a proud and smart people Milly. They've just been waiting for chance to rise and throw these damn shackles off. This is the best chance we're going to get… If I can just persuade them to work together between the clans, and strike at the right time, I think it will work."

Milly grinned. "So… if everyting works out as you want it to, then you'll be facing almost all of Dreadlac's army with a combined force of a couple dragon-riding Viking tribes and the cream of Irelands' warriors. I do like t'sound of _that_. Ok luv. I'll contact the leaders that I know and set up a meetin'. Don't you worry."

Then a teasing glint came to her eye. "It'll take a couple days but in the meantime you can fill me in on how exactly ye disappeared for three years then come back with such a pretty Viking warrioress on ye arm. T'ere's a story t'ere, I can feel it."

He slumped back in his chair with an embarrassed expression. "Oh boy. Should've seen that one coming."

/

Aker's message caught up with the Chief about 3 hours out from the Shivering Shores island.

After reading the report, he turned to Astrid, who was flying in close formation on his right wing.

"Well, it looks like we're going to have to re-think our talking points for the meeting."

Astrid tilted her head. "Why? What did that message say?"

"Dreadlac is going to be making his move this Spring. Roughly three months. Gunnar has already headed south to get the Irish gearing up, but this meeting just got _really_ important."

Astrid's face turned somber. "I know. We have to try to get as many of the tribes mobilizing as possible if we are going to have a chance at winning this."

Hiccup nodded. "I know we can count on the Wingmaides, the Berserkers, the Outlaws, and the Shivering Shore tribe, and I know the Defenders, the Iron beards, and the Skodians are on the fence, but the rest of the council is… I don't know. We need every tribe we can get."

Astrid smiled. "Don't worry, babe. You've been handling these guys for years now, and everybody has nothing but respect for you. You _can_ get them to support you if you try hard enough."

Hiccup chuckled. "I don't know how you do it m'lady, but once again, you've cheered me up."

Astrid smiled at him. "It's my job isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess it is. I just hope Gunnar handles things on his end. A lot is riding on getting the Irish to revolt."

"He'll handle it. He's very reliable and persuasive, and on top of that, they're his people. He'll get done. You worry about getting your half figured out."


	14. Chapter 13- Persuasions

**Chapter 13- Persuasions**

The next couple days were rather pleasant. The accommodations and food were nice, although Gunnar limited travel to inside the tavern. About a week into their visit, a message came in for Milly. Most of the Irish resistance leaders were willing to meet at a secluded location in a couple days' time. The few who didn't (or couldn't) come where sending trusted representatives to observe and speak on their cell's behalf. Milly was rather surprised at the number of chiefs who promised to come- Gunnar wasn't. He knew the Irish wouldn't pass up the chance to get to meet the infamous Outlaw _and_ see a real Berkian and her dragon.

Gunnar upon hearing the news immediately began packing up. After saying a fond farewell to Milly and her staff, Gunnar and Freya left the tavern at midnight.

After sneaking over the wall of the town in between patrols, they were on their dragons and flying toward the meeting site within an hour. After flying for about two nights, they landed outside of an old abandoned keep in the dark starless night. They could see shadowy figures approaching and disappearing inside the dark hulk. The meeting was about to begin.

Gunnar dismounted and surveyed the shape in the darkness. He took a deep breath. Freya hopped off of Flash, who was growling nervously at the fliting groups of shadows ascending the hill and toward the keep.

Freya looked at Gunnar- still studying the hill. "Are you sure this'll be safe?"

"No. But with our armor, we should be good. Go ahead and put on your full suit. Just remember, never lift your visor in front of anybody here. Our face is the mask. These types of people understand one thing- war and killing the enemy. They know the mask, and they know how many tallies the mask has. They respect it, and they'll listen to it. Just follow the plan and let me do the talking, and we'll be fine."

He squeezed her hand. "And don't worry baby, if everything does go south, I'll look out for you. We'll be fine."

The both put on their full suits of armor and weapons and covered themselves with their cloaks. Gunnar then whispered some instructions to Shock in Irish as he started down toward the menacing shape. Freya followed with a tight grip on her ax. This was the first time she was actually wearing the armor Gunnar made for her in a hostile environment. She was just beginning to appreciate the visibility that the mask provided.

They crawled up the hill without saying a word. Freya could feel the comforting mass of an invisible Flashbang right behind her, and she could see the dark shrouded shape of Gunnar crawling carefully in front of her. Suddenly someone whispered something in Irish, which Gunnar quickly answered. They moved on. Freya could see now the dark shapes of sentinels hidden around the keep. They finally reached their destination. A quick knock, a whispered word, and they were in.

The interior was surprisingly well lit inside. Gunnar dropped his hood but kept his visor down- Freya did the same. They followed a well-armed young man farther into the interior of the stone structure. Now that they were in the light, she noticed that Gunnar's walk had changed- his usual confident, almost jaunty step had now changed into more of quiet, dangerous stride. His whole demeanor echoed ferocity and danger- she surmised that it was to impress the tough warriors that were staring at them, and it seemed to be working. Every person they passed was heavily armed, and every person, male and female, old and young, all looked at her and Gunnar's mask in awe. He also worked well as a distraction- none noticed the shadow of Flash expertly weaving her way through the tight passageways.

The hallway suddenly opened up into a cavern or room of immense size. Scattered around talking was a motley assortment of tattooed warriors, chiefs, and shifty characters. All were armed, all looked dangerous, and all looked rough and unkempt. As Freya studied the room, she noticed that they were arranged onto clear groups, obviously from the separate cells, and despite personal appearances they were rather well-organized. The talk suddenly died down to complete silence.

The whole room was looking at the pair of them. Freya started to think that Flash had de-cloaked herself but then noticed invisible form of her dragon getting comfortable in the rafters above. She suddenly felt very nervous under the gaze of the assembly of characters in front of her. Gunnar walked over to his chair and pulled off his cloak. He then leaned his bow and sheathed sword against the table and gazed at the assembled Irishmen still looking at him in silence.

As Freya walked over and took a seat behind Gunnar she could hear a lot of the younger soldiers present whispering.

"Is that really _him_?"

"I t'ought I heard that he was dead, but ya can't believe everyting you hear dese days."

"Do ye think he brought his Firehawk?"

"Who's tat with 'im?"

"…heard he killed a hundred of them all by himself…"

"Why did he disappear for so long?"

"… Ya think he's an imposter?"

"Can't be. I saw him once a while ago fighting ta…"

"…ta visor matches, but where'd he go for ta past…"

Freya sat down, pulled her shoulders back and crossed her arms. Gunnar looked around once more and started the meeting as everyone sat down.

"Welcome, my lords, chiefs, and brothers. I'm pleased to see so many have come. For those of you who don't know who I am, my name is the Outlaw, or the Butcher to our enemies, and Steadyfoot to the Vikings of the North. Beside me is Freya Haddock of the Hooligan tribe of Berk."

At that name some eyebrows went up and the whispering intensified. As the rest of the chiefs and commanders introduced themselves to the assembly, Freya was watching Gunnar. This was a version of him she had rarely seen. He was calm, sharp, courteous, and professional- yet dangerous and solemn. And what was amazing was the way that he was wielding the aura of fear and authority that his mask somehow gave him- he used it to demand respect from this gathering of powerful nobles and elders… and he got it. It was truly something to watch when one knew how he actually was.

Once the long process of introductions where finished Gunnar began the actual meeting. "M'Lords! Once again, it is a pleasure to be able to meet you all... a gathering like this has seldom taken place in our long and proud history. Now, to the business that caused this meeting to be held. We all know that Dreadlac is massing his accursed forces for a further campaign to be held this spring."

A chorus of 'aye's echoed through the hall.

"And you all know that he is at his weakest here while he is campaigning than during any other season."

Nods across the room.

"His target for this upcoming spring is for the lands of the Vikings up North. Now we know that they are just as war-like and divided as we were (he flicked his hands apologetically in Freya's direction), and thus shouldn't present a problem for Dreadlac's normal tactics, so I ask a question for you all- why all of this extra preparation and effort?" -a pause as Gunnar looked around the room- "Because that is where the dragons of fable live. As it turns out, they exist. The stories that we've heard about them are true. I've seen Berk and their dragon riders with my own eyes… and I've brought a Dragon Rider of the North down to this meeting as proof to you all."

Gunnar turned and nodded at Freya. She saw him wink reassuringly behind his visor. She stood up, took a deep breath, and took off her cloak. Then, in a clear ringing voice, she said: "My name is Freya Haddock, daughter of Chief Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III- the Dragon Master of Berk. And this-" She gestured toward the ceiling with a showy flair "-is my dragon, Flashbang, dragonet of the Dragon king!"

Flashbang shimmered then suddenly appeared above the council's heads, giving the shocked expressions below a growl as she leaped down from the rafters and landed without a sound next to Freya. Glimmering like fresh-driven snow in the torch light, Flashbang stared back with clear blue eyes at the circle of astounded chieftains in a suitably noble and impressive pose.

There was a symphony of murmurs and whispers as lieutenants and advisors hastily began counselling their respective leaders. Gunnar let this go on for a second, then nodded to Freya in thanks. She sat back down and began petting Flash.

"M'lords! Please do not be alarmed. Flash will not harm anyone, upon my orders. I brought the chieftain's daughter and her dragon here simply to prove the existence of Berk and its legends. If any of you would like, you are allowed to come up to the dragon and greet her." A deadly glint flashed in his eyes. "She is royalty, and my I inform everyone that dragons are NOT to be considered dumb beasts. They are highly intelligent and extremely dangerous, especially this one. Once again, she will not harm anyone _unless attacked_." He turned and stared pointedly at the crowd of young warriors watching the proceedings, many of whom where brandishing weapons at the strange creature. At his glare they nervously lowered their weapons.

As individuals from different groups approached Flash and the others apprehensively looked on, a surprisingly young Irish chieftain resolutely spoke up from his corner. The poor young man seemed to have been forced into his position through tragic circumstances- he wasn't even old enough to grow a beard. "Outlaw, this 'ere proves the existence of Berk and dragons, no one could argue that. But what proof do you have that you're the actual Outlaw of the stories? I apologize for my doubt, but we all 'erd that the real Outlaw was killed three years ago farther North. How do we know if you're the real Outlaw or just an imposter? Where's _your_ red and black firehawk?"

Gunnar turned his head and glanced toward the speaker. "A valid question. My dragon, Shock, is assisting our sentinels in guarding this meeting. I would've brought him in here if he could've fit, but unfortunately, he's a little large for the doorway. If you would like, please take a step outside and look up. And as to my credibility… Do you _really_ believe what the enemy says? But you do bring up a good point. Anyone _could_ be behind my mask." Freya saw Gunnar stop and glance down at the table, thinking hard. Then he looked back up at the young man with a confident glance.

He turned to his side and took his bow out from its cover, along with two arrows. "But not just anyone can match my skill. I ask you, can anyone but the true Outlaw do this?" In a blur of movement, he whipped his bow up toward the ceiling and loosed one arrow toward the center of a beam- he fired the next in such quick succession that when the first landed, it was missing a fletch, the severed feather floating down to the ground directly in front of the young man. The chief glanced up at the two arrows embedded above his head and shook his head in amazement. "I apologize again for me question, but after the stories and your disappearance I 'ad to make sure."

Gunnar place his bow back in the case with an understanding nod. "In these treacherous times a man's word can't be trusted as it once was. I forgive your question- I should've brought proof before we began. That was my fault."

As that exchange was going on the braver (and less superstitious) of the Irishmen in the meeting were approaching Flash one by one, each one being directed on the interaction by Freya. Dragon training fundamentals really, just with a jumpy dragon in a strange environment. Gunnar watched the proceedings with an eagle eye. During his planning this was the one point where he wasn't sure how his fellow Irishmen would react. How they took to Flash would affect much of the rest of the meeting.

Once the council had been seated once again and the whispers had died down, Gunnar continued. "I hope all of you have been convinced as to the validity of my claims. Now. About the reason I am talking to you all today."

An old chief raised his fist for permission to speak. Gunnar bowed his head at him with a well concealed sigh of annoyance. "Outlaw. Proof ye have given us, and as to meself the proof is excepted. Tis clear you are going to war this spring. Tis also clear you ask us for aid. I hope ye realize that we here do not have the strength or means to assemble an army. Maybe ye have forgotten in t'tree years you have left us. We are under occupation. We have been for t'past 6 years. What would ye have us do? We are scattered. We are weak. We cannot help ourselves, let alone the Vikings. You know, this, so why call this meeting?"

Gunnar stared at the old chief with an interesting look. "What you say is true, to some extent. But maybe _you_ have forgotten something in the past 6 years of defeat and occupation that you knew once. We're Irishmen! We are _never_ weak. And I do not ask for an army. The Vikings have firepower enough to stop and maybe even _destroy_ Dreadlac. All I ask for is for you all to recognize the opportunity I am handing to you on a silver platter. I ask that you all work together and grasp it firmly, with both hands. To take back Ireland for yourselves. You _have_ the strength. You _have_ the determination. All you need is the right time… and that I am going to give to you."

Gunnar continued. "Yes, if you do stage a mass uprising, you will be helping me. In fact, you are the key to my plan for the spring's campaign. Because if you take back Ireland and take revenge for the warriors he slew and the families he slaughtered, then you will be removing his supply base. He will be forced to strike me quickly. And the hasty strike oft goes astray, as the saying goes. _You_ will be causing the mistake that _I_ exploit. That simple, m'lords. That simple. And as to your worry about being successful in your uprising when all others failed…"

Gunnar took a deep breath. "Need I remind you all about the buildup that Dreadlac is doing? You yourselves have been remarking on the sudden weakness of his normal garrisons. Forces small enough now that we would have laughed our heads off back then if someone was to say that they held us in check. He takes his men North, I engage them and pin them down. You destroy his food stocks here, force him to make a mistake, I take advantage and destroy him. We get Ireland and revenge out of the deal, and the Vikings get to keep their homes."

There was silence in the hall as Gunnar finished. Each leader was contemplating the implications of such a move. The Outlaw was suggesting war. If they failed, or he failed, then Dreadlac would come back and burn Ireland to the ground. Nothing would be left. However, if they succeeded, then Ireland would be theirs again. And the masked soldier was right- this level of mobilization was beyond anything any of them had ever seen. The garrisons would be woefully understrength. A truly tempting target.

Gunnar could feel the growing approval. He was just starting to take a deep breath of relief when a chieftain from the more southern portions of Dreadlac's empire spoke up.

"I have a wee question. This does sound like a good plan. But. Have ye considered the fact that Dreadlac is probably aware of his weakness 'ere? We all know he's a crafty bastard. He'll expect us to make a move while he's gone. He'll have safeguards in place. What do you suppose we do about tat? And, to follow up, he beat us before. What makes ye tink we can beat him this time when we've got less to work with?"

Gunnar turned toward the new speaker. "A very good observation. You're right: he _will_ have a safeguard force in place." Gunnar scoffed hard enough to wiggle his mask. His next words dripped with ill-concealed venom. "But he thinks we're a beaten, conquered people. Look at the size of the garrisons he's leaving behind. He obviously thinks all he has to do is leave behind enough men to crush any last small pockets of resistance that reveal themselves while he's gone. He's forgotten what he did to us." Rage burned in his eyes as he continued, voice rising in volume. "He's burnt our homes, killed our warriors, raped our women, sold our children into slavery, stolen our crops, starved our people, and forgotten that _we don't forget_. And he thinks that we'll just cower and let him get away with it."

Freya's eyes went wide. She was really good at reading people: and right now, the whole room was boiling with enough intense rage to make her head hurt. All across the room snarls rose upon the visages of the Irishmen, especially on the young warriors at the door.

Gunnar grinned maliciously under the mask. "He doesn't realize that every Irishman alive will fight, given a chance such as this. He's so busy worrying about the dragons of the north that's he's forgotten about what the chain-up beast in his backyard can do. Remember: when he beat us before he fought us one claw at a time."

He sat back, satisfaction written all across his body. "So, chiefs of the Irish people. Are you really going to pass up this opportunity to show him what the full might of the animal can do?"


	15. Chapter 14- Home Again

**Chapter 14- Home Again**

The two Vikings stepped outside. The meeting was over. It had been almost a unanimous decision to support Gunnar's campaign next spring. Shock landed heavily in front of the pair and snarled at the forest of spears and swords that suddenly appeared pointed at his direction. Gunnar grinned under his mask.

"Brothers! Before we leave! I would like to introduce my magnificent dragon, Shock. A Titanwing Deadly Nadder. He's slain more of our enemy with his teeth and claws than our beloved Ireland has potatoes!" Shock bared his fangs and growled in affirmation, shaking his mane of spikes to create a chilling rattling sound. Even Freya and Flash took a step back from the ferocious-looking dragon. As Gunnar saddled up Freya could easily imagine his concealed grin.

"Take care of yourselves! I look forward to seeing you all on the field of battle!" Then, like a flash in the early-morning light, Shock and Flashbang went hurtling into the sky.

As they gained altitude and headed North, Gunnar lifted up his visor and laughed. Whooping, he did a few loops through the sky. Flash wanted to join in, but Freya was feeling a little queasy and didn't want to risk the maneuver. Gunnar glided back into formation.

"Well that went well! I honestly didn't expect it to go that smoothly."

Freya chuckled to herself. "You're surprised? I'm not. That was really impressive. You had them right in the palm of your hand." She stopped and put her hands on her hips. "And where in the world did you learn how to give a speech like that? _I_ was getting all riled up and angry!"

Gunnar laughed out loud with a teasing gesture. "And we both know how impossible that is! Honestly though, I don't know. It just came out. I will say you and Flash did your part perfectly. That was one heck of an entrance!"

Freya laughed and gave her dragon a pat. "Ha! Yeah, that was actually fun. I do love a little dramatic flair here and there. I don't know if you can tell, but I get that from my dad's side." She paused for a bit, remembering. Then she perked up a bit. "Where did you learn how to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Influence people like that. It was almost like you knew exactly what approach to take with the individual chieftains. Every man's question you answered differently."

Gunnar shrugged. "Practice, mostly. It was just like I told you before. I know how to read people, and I know how use the information I read. Back in my insurgent days half the reason I was so dangerous was because I would play mind games with my opponents. I would read them, evaluate them, find their weakness, and exploit. It _is_ a skill that needs developed, but if you play it right you can win any battle with it."

He glanced downward at a hole in the clouds. "And it has other uses as well. I only need a short little while with someone and I can tell a lot of what a person values, what his or her fears are, how they think. All information that can be used to good effect, as you saw." His face turned grim. "It's honestly the reason I'm still alive. I put in a lot of work to build a reputation for the Outlaw. And it payed off time and again. Every time a raider would hesitate, or a commander would call for more reinforcements for fear of me, it would give me an opportunity to escape. Or strike. Much of war is a mind game baby. Even the strongest man can be defeated with a sharp mind. Remember that."

Freya nodded wisely. "Hmm. That is true. Dad tells us stories all the time of the guys he faced when he was young. And he always said the most dangerous ones weren't the ferocious, crazy men with entire armies and fleets, it was the smart and crafty ones that proved the most trouble. Dad is _still_ marveling at some of the traps that Viggo Grimborn set for him." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "And lemme guess, you built your reputation around your mask. So you could take it off and blend in if you needed to, right?"

"Yep. That's why whenever the visor is down, I act differently. Reputation is easier lost than built, and whenever the mask is down, I need to people to fear me. Honestly, fear is a force multiplier. You'll be surprised how many times I was able to take on impossible odds and walked out because people ran instead of fought."

"Ah. And I'm not going to ask what exactly you did to earn that reputation."

Gunnar grimaced. "I would rather you not. Let's just say it took a lot of unpleasant work."

It took them another 10 days or more of straight travel to get back to New Berk. They didn't see much activity throughout the long nights of flying, except once. About five hours into one particularly black night, they passed a hole in the clouds and caught a glimpse of the vast expanse of their enemies' main staging area. Long rows of torches marched onto the shrouded shapes of vast black ships. Gunnar was quiet the rest of the night.

When they finally arrived at New Berk, Hiccup had been back for a good week and met them as they landed. "Well?" he asked.

Gunnar nodded and gave him the thumbs up. Hiccup sighed in relief. "Well," he said as he gave his daughter a hug, "At least that part of the plan is going smoothly."

Freya looked up at him. "Why do you say that? What happened at the council meeting?"

Hiccup shrugged. "I got 11 tribes to agree. I invited them and all the others to our strategy planning council that's in a week. I'm hoping the other 6 show, but I don't know. Hopefully they will. Your mother keeps telling me that 11 is a good job, but 6 tribes worth of fleets and/or dragons is a force that I have a feeling we are going to be missing sorely."

Gunnar hopped off his dragon. "You might be right, chief, but we'll figure out a way. Something tells me that as soon as they see Dreadlac for themselves, they'll show."

"I hope you're right."

/

_It was like it was real again. The bright Irish sun, the clear sky, the birds twittering in the trees. The masses of soldiers saying goodbye to their loved ones on the dusty road. The somber Baron McKullough, staring down toward the south. What was different this time was… **her** face. It wasn't clear like all the other times. As she looked up at the young archer, cradling the crooning baby, her face didn't have the clarity that usually came with this dream. It was almost like he was forgetting what she looked like. No… it was like it was someone else. How could that be? Her face still had that same beauty. That trust. That whispered promise. But it was still different._

Freya woke up again. She looked over to see if she had bothered Gunnar, but he was still out like a light. It looked like he was having a rough dream. She sighed and put her boots on for yet another trip to the outhouse. She had _not_ been feeling well recently. She first noticed it when they were coming back from Ireland and just assumed the nausea was just food poising. But it wouldn't go away. Earlier today she had nearly thrown up her lunch at the smell of Yak butter biscuits- of which she had eaten thousands of before.

She couldn't figure this bug out. She definitely didn't want to bother Gunnar. He didn't need the distraction. He was exhausted enough anyway, prepping for that big planning meeting tomorrow. Oof. I guess I better go see Valka after the meeting, she thought. I don't know how much more of this I can take.

In the morning she was exhausted but feeling better. Gunnar was already up and out, and after she looked at the sundial it looked like she only had about two more hours before the meeting. She should have told him to wake her up. Oh well. Her innards were feeling pretty stable, so she'll take it. She'll be on time.

An hour later she was knocking on Valka's door with a green face and clutching her stomach. Valka took one look at her and immediately sat her down at the dinner table. Astrid, who was visiting Valka before heading up to the meeting, took one look at her daughter and her eyes furrowed.

"Great Thor's ax, honey, what happened to you?" she said. Freya shrugged.

"I have no idea. I thought I just got food poisoning from that trip down to Ireland two weeks ago, but it should've gone away by now. And on top of that, I'm tossing my lunch at the mere smell of stuff like *rrmmphg* yak butter biscuits." She squelched her eyes shut and stifled a burp.

Astrid's eyebrows went up. "But you love yak butter biscuits!"

Freya shrugged helplessly. "I know! And I still want them! But as soon as I take one whiff the reaction is the same as what happened to Spitlout when he got trapped in uncle Tuffnut's outhouse! I don't know what's happening!"

Valka studied her granddaughter for a moment. "Have been eating a lot recently? Cravings?"

Freya paused. "Yeeeeaaaah, a little more than normal, I guess. Of the stuff I can handle. Trying to catch up on the stuff I've been *hiccup* tossing. And cravings… no I don't think- well, actually, yeah. Why?"

A lightbulb went off in Valka's head. "And have you been having mood swings lately?"

Astrid and Freya looked absolutely baffled. "No… I mean… I did sorta flip out on Gunnar the other day when he put his dirty boots on a kitchen chair- I don't know why I did that. What does this have to do with me being sick?"

Valka looked pointedly at Astrid. Suddenly Astrid's face lit up. "Ohhh… Valka… are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Valka had huge grin on her face. "That I am. Although we won't know for sure until later. But all the puzzle pieces are in place."

Freya looked indignantly at the two of them. "Would you guys mind explaining exactly why you're _happy_ that I seem to be sick with a mutant flu?"

Valka grinned. "Well, honey, your mother had those _exact_ same symptoms a long time ago. Let me just say that you'll have this bug for about 9 more months and then it'll be gone."

"_9_ _more months_! I'm gonna be sick for _9 more months_!? What do you mean 9 more- wait-a-minute." Freya's eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. "Are you saying…"

Astrid finished her sentence "…that you're pregnant?! Haha! Yes! I'm gonna be a grandma!" Astrid gave Freya a power hug and then started almost skipping around the room laughing. Freya just sat still with a shocked look on her face.

Valka grinned. "Congratulations, honey. I would suggest you tell Gunnar _after_ the meeting. Speaking of which, it's about time we get going. Here. Drink this. It'll stabilize your stomach, so you won't toss in front of everyone."


	16. Chapter 15- Strategy and Surprise

**Chapter 15- Strategy and Surprise**

Gunnar stepped into the Great Hall. All around the central table sat a huge number of strange-looking and somber chiefs and generals. In the middle of the group was placed a huge map, one of the latest updated ones from both Freya's and Hiccup's travels. The central table was huge, oval in shape, with the chief's ornamental chair at the head. Just behind it sat chairs for Valka, Freya, Astrid, and other important advisors for Hiccup, with space for Toothless to lay down and watch the proceedings. At each chief's spot there was a chair for him and his general, with seating provided for any additional advisors just behind.

He took a deep breath and walked over to Hiccup, who was busy looking over some letters in his Chief's chair. Aker was with him, talking with some of the nearby chieftains.

Gunnar put his helmet on the table in front of his chair. "You ready for this Chief?"

Hiccup nodded. "Ready to get going. Hope you got a plan. You _are_ our resident Dreadlacian expert, after all."

"Oh, I do. I've been rolling this thing around my head for months now. It really boils down to persuading a bunch of stubborn Vikings to follow the plan. Are we ready to start? Where's the ladies?"

Hiccup frowned. "I was about to ask you that same thing. Astrid's not the type to be late… Oh, here they are. Just coming in."

Gunnar looked over. Valka, Freya, and Astrid were just now entering the hall. All three looked ridiculously happy for a war council. Above his head, he heard Hiccup groan. "Uh-oh. I know that face. Something big has happened and I don't think they're going to tell us what it is."

Gunnar sighed. "Yup, looks like it. Now curiosity is going to be eating me alive the whole meeting."

The three women came up and took their seats behind the men. Hiccup gave Astrid a queer look as Astrid just grinned and shrugged. Aker, who had just walked up to take his chair, saw the exchange and rolled his eyes.

The meeting began. There were 12 tribes present, beside the Hooligans, with 2 more observing. Representatives from the other three tribes in the council were missing. The tribes present were as follows. The Berserkers were led by Heather's son, Holger. Representing the Defenders of the Wing was Throk's son, Thorolf (the Defender's Queen, Rona, and her mother, Mala, was sick and could not attend). Alvina, the Chieftess of the Outcasts and her father, Alvin, were also there. The current Chief of the Shivering Shores, Chief Svalgerd, had also arrived, bringing with him a rather large entourage.

Seated to the left of Hiccup was old Chief Balder of the Skodian clan, Chief Ingolf of the Ingmen (along with Admiral Ingvar and his wife Ingfred), Chief Even of the trading clan called the Fair Shippers, and Chief Havardr of the Guardians of the Nest.

Seated directly to Hiccup's right was Atali's daughter Queen Lilja, representing the Wingmaidens. To her right was Svern, Chief of the Ironbeards, Skarsgard, chief of the Scarhead Tribes, and the old Cheiftess Gunhild of the Bloodhats.

General Murdoc the Muttonhead of the Muttonheads and Master Trader Sigmund of the Northern Merchant Guild were observing the proceedings, while the representatives of the Blanks, the Despicables, and the Uncouth Goth Tribes were missing.

The meeting took a grand total of 15 hours of bickering, planning, and feasting. Arguments were plentiful, and quite a few Chieftains got very close to walking out of the door at some points. But every time one was in the process of storming out of the hall, a skillful side talk by Gunnar would soon have the nullified Chieftain sitting back in his chair, willing to hammer something out.

The plan, in the end, was a good one. Gunnar was the mastermind behind the grand strategy, but each of the chieftains inputted their own little flavor to the plan, playing each tribe's strengths with each other's weaknesses. The final product was a multi-stage strategy, playing off of the Viking's mobility to wear down, harass, and finally trap Dreadlac's main force. Gunnar was appointed as the unified field commander. When he asked why, Hiccup explained that since he was not officially a member of any tribe there wasn't going to be any problem with other tribes' warriors refusing orders- and Gunnar's persuasive skills were going to be key in holding the Viking army together long enough to defeat Dreadlac.

In a nut-shell, the plan revolved into moving all of the Archipelago's non-combatants and supplies (especially food) into a few well-protected concealed locations. The warriors from each tribe would be split between mobile raiding forces and New Berk, the central citadel. When the combined Irish revolt and the mobile fleet's raids were pulled off, any and all food coming into the massive army would be destroyed. It wouldn't take long for Dreadlac's huge force to eat the food that they brought with them- soon they would be starving and eager for any major engagement to relieve the pressure. Even one with the all of the cards stacked in favor of the Vikings.

Once the meeting was finally over, everyone was in a relieved and hopeful mood and the meal that followed was one of the biggest feasts in New Berk's short history. As soon as it was clear that the official meeting was over though, Freya (who was started to look a little green around the gills as the steaming platters were brought out) quickly found Gunnar and the two of them disappeared into the now-dark winter night. Their dragons followed.

Gunnar looked at his wife, who tried to stifle a burp as they walked out into the fresh air. "You ok hon?"

She held up a finger, made a face, then sighed. "Yeah, I am now. It's just that some certain foods are almost making me toss on command now."

Gunnar tilted his head. "Really? That's… weird. Are you sick?"

He noted a strange mix of panic and glee cross her face just before she said in a completely monotone voice: "Eh. Just some food poisoning. Congratulations on another impressive round of people uh, persuading by the way. And becoming a General of the entire, you know, Viking army. That's uh, a big deal."

Gunnar wasn't buying a thing. Hiccup was definitely right. She's hiding something. He squinched his eyes at the incredibly innocent look that Freya was trying to hold on her face. "You wanna tell me something? I know you won't be able to hold it for much longer, so you might as well get it out."

She grinned. "Well, I did want to set up a surprise for you, but I just found out this morning, and…"

He put his hands on his hips. "You couldn't hold it in for any longer than absolutely necessary. Well?"

She got a mischievous look in her eye. They had just arrived to one of the many cliff edges overlooking the world below. She sat down and patted the spot next to her. "Take a guess."

Gunnar sat down. "Hmm. You wanna play _that_ game, do you?" He studied her with a grin in the moonlight. "Uuuhh… lemme guess… one, Valka and your mom both know." She nodded excitedly.

He loved it when she got excited. She started to almost vibrate. And based on the movement her knee was doing, this was big. "…aaaaaand… 2… what would you 'find out' just this morning?"

She clapped her hand over her mouth and started almost squeak-giggling. He knew if he delayed long enough, she'd burst. "Hmm, Jeez, maybe its… no, that can't be it. What about… no. A-hah! I bets its-"

"I'm pregnant!" She started laughing at him as he just sat there with his finger up.

He blinked. "…_not_ that. What?"

She kept laughing, clutching her stomach as it took about a good 90 seconds for him to comprehend what she had just said.

"Wait, are you serious? Seriously?! You are!? What? Talk to me! What?!"

She hiccupped and started gasping for breath, having laughed so hard she didn't have any air left. She finally managed to squeeze something out. "Yep! I am! And your *hic* face… was priceless!"

"Wha- well this day is turning out awesome! Talk about a reward for a long day's work!" He enveloped her in monster hug as she kept giggling.

They sat there, laughing and talking, for who-knows-how-long. Noise and laughter from the party still filtered through the quiet night, as the two of them stared in utter bliss at the star-filled sky. The two of them had calmed down a bit, and the exhaustion from the long day was really beginning to settle in. Gunnar sighed, causing the gentle brunette next to him to look up. "What's wrong?"

Gunnar studied a star for a moment longer then grinned slightly. "That little tyke has some timing. I honestly can't be happier that we're having a baby, but…"

Freya frowned. "He's going to arriving in the middle of a war."

"A war I'm going to be busy fighting."

They sat there some more. Thinking.

"How do ya know it's gonna be a 'he'? Something tells me it's gonna be a 'she'."

"No. It's a 'he'."

"She."

"Shut up, you handsome idiot."


	17. Chapter 16- It Begins

**Chapter 16: It Begins**

It was Spring. The ice was thawing, the days were lengthening, and armies were mobilizing. In the depth of his main force, Dreadlac was reviewing his plan. His spies had reported that the Vikings had been mobilizing en-masse, gathering under the banner of the most powerful tribe in the North- the Hooligan tribe of Berk. While this was surprising, it was of no real concern. Dreadlac had known that Berk was going to be the biggest problem in his conquest of the North for a while. And the news of their unification- he knew that even if this news was true, the different tribes had too much bad blood between them for them to be able to really work together.

Now, this news that the Butcher was still alive…this…was problematic. He knew that the Vikings had no idea what was coming for them, but if the Butcher was actually alive and living amongst one of the tribes… then they might. That would upset his plans. So, his highest priority for his assassins and spies was to find out which tribe the Butcher was living in — and kill him. As soon as possible. If he could get rid of both Berk and their dragon rider army, and the Butcher and his knowledge, then the Archipelago would be all but his.

A soldier, one of his elite huscarls, came into his cabin. "Sir! News from our 'friend' in the North. It looks like the Vikings know the location of all but one of our strike forces. The western-most one. He also says that a man matching your description of the Butcher is currently living in New Berk." The man grinned evilly. "And some extra little news that'll brighten your day, sir. He says that this man has married into the Berkian Chief's family."

Dreadlac chuckled. "Perfect. Thank our little informant for me. Tell our friend that as long as information continues to come our way than our deal will be upheld. Oh, and Hackett-" The man paused at the door. "Tell our assassins to forget targeting the Butcher." A startled look crossed the man's face. "Sir?" Dreadlac grinned again. "Tell them that the Butcher is off limits- until his little family is a pin cushion."

Hackett sneered. "Right away sir."

/

_The roar of men and the din of battle echoed through his brain. Arrows whistled through the air. The dark mass slowly advanced upon the Irishmen. Unstoppable. The desperate soldiers in front of him hurled themselves upon the tightly-packed enemy formations, only to fall. But the line held. The remaining warriors stood firm, determined to protect those behind. Defeat was not an option. Suddenly, the cry that reverberated through his brain for a decade, and that he would remember for a century- 'Smoke to the north! The Fens are under assault! The accursed enemy have us outflanked! Our homes are burning!'_

Gunnar bolted upright. Ah jeez. It was just that Nightmare again. He hated that Nightmare. He looked over to see if he had woken Freya up, but the exhausted woman was still peacefully sleeping, hands holding her gently growing belly. He sighed. Suddenly his neck started to prickle. There was a quiet squeak from the kitchen downstairs. He slowly laid back down, reaching silently for his long knife next to the bed. Suddenly there was a clunk, and a Terrible Terror flew through the window and latched onto his face.

"Augh! UMPH! Get- mmf- OFF!" Freya sat up and looked over at Gunnar ferociously wrestling with a tiny dragon welded to his face. She grinned and lifted the Terror off with a yawn. "Message for you honey.", she said sweetly.

Gunnar sat back up and grumbled. "Why do those pesky little lizards hate me so much?"

Freya grinned again and handed him the little slip of paper attached to the squirming dragon. "I don't know. Maybe you should *yawn* ask them. Anyways, good night." She curled back up under the covers.

"They didn't say anything last time I _did_ ask them. Pbthbppthp. Oh well. Good night." He opened up the message. It was from Eret Jr, written about five hours ago. Dreadlac's main fleet was under way and grouping with his two nearest subfleets. Eret estimated that they have about a week before the fleet breached the Archipelago's outer limits. Gunnar frowned. Time to go to work. He leaned over and kissed Freya's cheek. The answer was a small snore from the pile of hair and blankets. He was dressed and out of the door within minutes.

Flash had drowsily watched Gunnar leave from her corner in the room. She was just beginning to go back to sleep when her ears perked up. A creek, a strange scent. Her left eye flew open just in time to catch the sight of a shadow slip out of the doorway. Growling softly, she crouched up and sniffed the air. Someone else was here. Flash didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

When Freya woke up, the village was already up and about, buzzing from last night's news. Dreadlac was moving. Chief Hiccup was preparing for the flood of civilians, supplies, and warriors that were on their way to swamp New Berk. Gunnar had already left, leading a contingent of dragon riders and Berk's best dragon trainers to the island that used to hold Dragons Edge, where much of the rest of the Archipelago's civilians would be laying low at until the war was over. Besides the flock of Night Terrors on guard, it was going to be protected by a thick (dragon-generated) fog bank and a Submarriper in the harbor, just in case any enemy ships stumbled upon the refuge.

Freya, followed by a sleepy-looking Flashbang, went off to find Astrid. She spotted her mother near the ship cranes, supervising the final construction of defensive ballistae's and catapults near the docks. "Hey mom! Can I talk to you real quick?"

Astrid smiled. "Sure!" Stormfly came gliding majestically down from her elevated position and landed without a thump. Astrid jumped down and gave her dragon a quick scratch. "What's up?"

Freya watched Flash greet the older dragon before answering. "I just want to know if there is anything I can do to help. I know Gunnar probably just wants me to watch, but I don't like feeling useless."

Astrid grinned. "I felt the exact same way when I was pregnant with you. Let's see if we can find you something to do at the storage houses. There's going to be a lot of stuff going into the barns, so we do need someone to help catalogue it all. I'll walk you over. How have you been feeling?"

Freya shrugged. Her belly was only just beginning to noticeably swell. "Not too bad, nothing near the horror stories _you_ have from this same stage. Thankfully. I _have_ been eating ridiculous amounts of food and sleeping about 12 hours a day, but that's normal now."

Astrid nodded as they passed Gobber directing the placement of a huge Gronckle Iron armor plate over the roof of a storehouse. "Yeah, that's about normal. Still tossing at the smell of Yak butter biscuits?"

Freya blanched. "mmhmm… I'm beginning to think that I'll never eat one of those again. Yugh. Anyways, how many visitors are we expecting?"

Astrid shrugged. "Best guess is anywhere between 5-8 full tribes' worth of civilians and warriors."

Freya's mouth dropped open. "That's more than half of the entire Archipelago! Are you serious?"

Astrid nodded solemnly. "That's the point. New Berk and Dragons Edge are the only locations in the Archipelago that can either be made to disappear or made impervious to attack. For any of the other tribes to try to defend their _own_ island is to guarantee death. Besides the families that are disappearing into the wild and the fleets that are going to stay mobile for the rest of the year, the entire Archipelago and their supplies are going to be hunkering down at Berk and Dragons Edge."

Freya was aghast. "How are we going to feed that many soldiers and people? Why are we bunching up like this? Isn't Dreadlac going to burn down everybody's' villages and homes?" Astrid looked grim for a second. "Yes, that's probably going to happen. The important thing is that the people themselves aren't going to be in their villages when they're burnt down."

"But doesn't that mean that his entire army is going to end up here?"

Astrid paused for a moment, looking out over the still-peaceful waters surrounding her home, a thousand feet below. "Freya, that's want we want. If they're all here, we can make sure we kill them all. Don't you worry, baby. Berk is never going to fall. We've weathered worse."


	18. Chapter 17- The First Casualty

**Chapter 17: The First Casualty**

It was a dark night, with few stars lighting the small, shrouded encampment and its slumbering occupants. Gunnar growled and held is head. His pillow (Shock) stirred in his sleep at the movement of his rider but had little other reaction. Man, Gunnar thought, I really don't need sleep problems right now. Tomorrow is going to be his first true contact in the war. For many of the men here, it's going to be their first sight of their enemy. They have to be alert. Go back to sleep. Keep worrying about that in the morning.

"Psst! Gunnar! We got a sighting!" Gunnar shook his head, then bolted upright. Rod was shaking him. "The enemy fleet entered our waters about 20 minutes ago. Galerider just spotted them. They're splitting up. Half is heading toward what looks like Berserker Island and the other half is heading toward Wingmaiden Island. Eret should be making contact soon." Gunnar scrambled up and hooked on his combat harness.

"Wake the rest of the camp silently. We're going to have to split up as well to keep track of them all."

Rod nodded and started shaking the other riders. Gunnar ran to the edge of the sea stack and looked out at one of Dreadlac's secondary fleets. Probably around 200-250 ships. It _was_ splitting up. Probably a good 2/3rds were heading toward Berserker Island and the rest were changing course and heading toward Wingmaiden Island. It's a shame he can't engage yet. Not yet.

He turned to the small circle of Berkians surrounding him. "All right, Arina, you and Even tail the smaller group. Remember, do NOT engage." The two Ack siblings nodded somlenly. "Just report the fleet's actions. Scablout, Asger, same goes for you. You're going to be keeping tabs on the larger half. Remember, don't reveal yourselves under _any_ circumstances, and we'll be expecting position reports every 6 hours." The Jorgenson and the Hofferson saluted and turned toward their dragons. "Rod, you're with me. We're heading back to New Berk. Good luck, guys." The group all nodded and ran for their dragons. Gunnar and Rod were soon winging it back to Berk.

They passed no less than six more separate invading fleets, each varying in size from a mere 25 ships to others looking more like 300. Rod was stunned at the mass of Dreadlac's forces. Gunnar just grimly counted the ships. At one point, Gunnar shouted over to the worried Hofferson: "Don't worry- it looks like a lot of boats, but the number of competent soldiers on board is no were near as large. We can take 'em." Rod just kept staring down at the crowded water below.

They arrived at New Berk in the middle of the night. Strangely, no torchlight glowed from the water below, and no hoarse shouts of men came from the space beneath the clouds. Dreadlac's main forces must not have arrived at New Berk yet. He could see the village in blackout as they approached. Although by the looks of the number of shrouded windows and ships in the drydock, all of the refugees and warriors from other tribes had already arrived and settled in. The dark shape of a lookout nodded at them from a watchtower. It was Spitlout, grumbling about his posting as usual but strangely not asleep.

Gunnar said goodbye to Rod and landed outside of his house. Now that he was in the clear, his lack of sleep from the last night was really hitting him now. He smiled to himself as he took off his boots inside his front door. He loved having a family to come home to again. He couldn't wait to curl up next to his (guaranteed) snoring wife and fall asleep. And soon he was.

/

_The terror, the fear. The slaughter, the desperate hope, the horror. A tumble of emotions. Defeat. Shame. Hope again. After that cry, the line had broken. Scattered. Confusion, violence, heroic last stands, shameful fleeing, the Baron falling. Running. More running, finding Shock, then flying. Ever farther north. Hoping beyond hope that they were safe. That he could rescue… **them** and fly far away. Away from the enemy. Anywhere but here. _

_The arrival. Hope dissipating as the pillar of black smoke on the horizon revealed itself to come from his town. The burned-out husks of what had once been homes. The bodies of attackers and villagers scattered across the landscape and in the town. The grisly sight of what had once been his adoptive father hacked to pieces where he made is last stand- behind a wall of dead Raiders. The burning pile of bodies in the town square, that only two short months ago was decorated with pretty streamers and flowers… but was now just a black glimpse into hell._

A creak of a floor board. Gunnar stirred, but was too caught up in his nightmare to notice. A gleam of a dagger in the moonlight. The happy sigh of Freya, running along in some imaginary green field, followed by a small snore. Another stealthy step. The dragon must die first. Flash's ear twitched ever so slightly, disturbed by something… or someone. She doesn't know. A black shape crouched over the white mass of the slumbering Night Light. Suddenly, a flash of blue, as Flash's bright eyes look up in terror at the silvery flash of the knife as it plunges downward. The nasty sound of a blade embedding itself in flesh.

Flash roars and leaps away from the assassin, scrambling up the wall in panic. Freya wakes up with a gasp, but the figure just stands their staring in shock at the blade sticking out of his chest. Gunner is sitting up, with his arm flung out, staring at the cloaked back and the dropped weapon. Dogs bark outside, and yelling accompanies the nearest sentry rushing toward the house. A quiet thump of a body on cold wood is the last noise that man will ever make. "An assassin." Gunnar growls. Flash, barely unscathed, glares at the limp form.

At the morning war meeting, both Gunnar and Freya were exhausted. The whole town had heard of the strange foreign man who had somehow found a way into New Berk and tried to assassinate the Chief's daughter and her dragon. What had them buzzing was that this news coincided perfectly with the news that Dreadlac's fleets had all been sighted. It was decided to put Gunnar, Freya, and Flashbang in the chief's house for the time being, for their safety. It was also decided to send search parties equipped with tracker-class dragons into the woods surrounding the village to try to find any other foreigner spies.

A week later, as soon as the chatter from _that_ event died down, Dreadlac's main fleet arrived and put New Berk under siege. As soon as the fleet was sighted, Astrid (the General in charge of Berk's defenses) immediately sent warriors to every point on the island and began assessing the enemies' intent. It looked like it was going to be a stand-off for a while, as Dreadlac's soldiers began trying to figure out a way onto the tall island.

That's when the news began arriving from almost every scouting team that Gunnar had sent out: Every village, town, or port in the archipelago was in the process of being burnt to the ground. But the fleets, short of loot and victims, were all heading toward New Berk to join up with their commander and receive new orders.

The news spread a pall of depression across the island. Even though the Vikings knew that their homes would be lost, it wasn't until the sad news came that it really hit the average Viking who exactly they were dealing with. And with the sight of a 600-ship fleet at anchor around their bastion, moral was not at its finest.

Dreadlac launched his first probing attacks on New Berk a week later. They were easily beaten back with simple rocks tossed onto the cliff face, but both sides withheld their true strength and capabilities. These probes began a long process of assaults, scouting, more probing, and skirmishes along the cliff edges. Astrid and her generals were busy from sun up to sun down moving their troops to different parts of the island, trying to disrupt the construction of siege equipment, and shoring up weak points in the defensive belt. Meanwhile Chief Hiccup and the six chiefs that were present did their best to manage the mass of people and supplies.

Hiccup's biggest issue was in-fighting among the different Viking tribesmen. When you combine hunger, depression, historic bad blood, and just overall Viking unpleasantness in cramped spaces, time without fights were few and far between. Although a lot of the credit for peacekeeping during these times would actually go to Toothless. The only reason that the constant arguments among the 'allies' didn't get out of hand during the first few weeks of the siege was because of the super-powerful mystical Alpha Dragon with plenty of very sharp teeth and very little patience.

Dreadlac launched his first serious assault at midnight after three straight weeks of probing attacks and feints to tire out and confuse the defenders. Waves of grappling hooks soared from launchers in the ships below. Squadrons of Dragons Hunters flew up carrying boat-loads of savage Raiders. The whole fleet began bombarding the island at once. More Raiders were swarming up the ropes like evil beetles. Within minutes there were hundreds of soldiers and raiders streaming for New Berk. Out of the gates of the town charged the Viking warriors and flew the Berkian Dragon Riders. The defenders' artillery soon answered the attacker's bombardment in kind, and the first battle of Dreadlac's invasion had begun.


	19. Chapter 18- A Baptism of Fire

**Chapter 18: A Baptism of Fire**

Gunnar had just put Shock in his pen when the first catapult boulder crashed into the cliff edge just below the docking cranes. He watched the incoming flaming rounds climb ever higher and higher before they started to fall upon the packed town. Soldiers were stumbling out of their barracks, with a motley assortment of weapons and in complete disorganization. As Gunnar leapt onto Shock's back and took to the sky, he saw Astrid jump out of a second story window in the house and land squarely on Stormfly's waiting back, then rocket into the sky. More dragon riders quickly followed.

Astrid grabbed her ax and pointed it into the air. "Deathgrippers incoming!"

A black streak flew past them and made a beeline for them. "I've got 'em Astrid! You worry about our intruders!"

"Not without support! HEY!" Hiccup was long gone, followed by Lake-eye, Deathmirror, and Whiteout. The receding taunt of "I've got back up!" echoed down on the group. Ugh! She turned toward the growing circle of hovering riders. "All right, keep your heads clear! This just got real! Rod, you and your team are on ground support! Burn our visitors off our island!"

Rod nodded and his majestic Stormcutter glided with deadly intent toward the swarms of incoming torches in the night. Asfrid, Halvard, and a few other Hoffersons followed.

"Heather! Queen Lilja! Take your Razorwhips and sever the scaling ropes! Watch for enemy archers trying to cover them!"

"On it!" A glittering mass of Razorwhips and Wingmaiden royal guards flew for the cliffs.

"Buttnut! You're blowing Deathgrippers out of the sky!" "Gladly!"

"Valka! You and your people are going to be covering our backs."

Valka flipped down her Bewilderbeast mask and disappeared into the night sky above them.

"Ok, Snotlout, you're going to be leading our counter assault against their catapults. Shut them up and make sure Heather's got a clear shot at the grappling hooks!"

Snotlout grinned and dove for the waiting fleet below, followed by every Jorgenson that had a dragon.

"All right, the rest of you are going to be with me! We're going to be helping wherever we're needed! And Gunnar!"

Gunnar snapped on the last piece of his armor and glanced at Astrid, waiting for a command.

She pointed her ax at a huge mass of confused and panicking soldiers. "GET THOSE MEN MOVING!"

Gunnar flicked his visor down with an eager grin. "On it!"

He dove down to the confused Viking troops in the square. Shock shot a blast of magnesium fire across their heads to get their attention. "Enemy raiders have landed on the island! Get your fat Viking rear ends in gear, its time to stop laying around like a bunch of Lazy Hotburples and earn your keep!" Shock landed and started running toward the western gate of New Berk, followed by quite a few angry Vikings. Old Gobber watched them go with crossed arms. "Lazy Hotburple my ax. What is everybody's problem with Grump?!"

The first clash between the Raiders and the Viking was a nasty one. Both sides had underestimated each other's ferocity and determination. Although the attackers on the island were outnumbered, it seemed as though the Vikings from the different tribes were trying their best to _not_ work together, causing the fight to be long and drawn out. Grappling hooks and climbing ropes were being launched up as fast as the Wingmaidens and Heather could cut them down, and the Raiders started the battle with a solid foothold on the island. A foothold they were not willing to give up easily.

It was in this first battle that it truly became clear how effective Berk's riders could be. Since most of them were veterans with years of combat flying under their belts, the Riders caused havoc within Dreadlac's forces. Snotlout and his Jorgensons, combined with the extremely effective artillery fire from the island's (Hofferson-designed) catapults and ballistae, quickly neutralized the nearby ship-board Dreadlacian artillery bombarding the island, halting the steady stream of grappling hooks soaring toward the defenders.

In the fighting on the island, Astrid and her Hoffersons carried out precision strikes on any enemy troop concentrations that they could find, while the Thorstons just caused havoc and destruction wherever they happened to be. All the while Fishlegs led the island's Gronckle riders in marking enemy troops for air strikes by the invisible Furies and Nighlights circling the island.

It was hard to pinpoint all of the enemy soldiers, however. Even with the Ingerman's and the Wingmaiden's efforts, the raiders were swarming onto the island from all different directions, and it was incredibly difficult to locate the shifty men in the pitch darkness. The only place guaranteed to be free of Raiders was the Village itself, as the traps laid by the Defenders of the Wing did their work, and the walls and sharp night eyes of the Bloodhats kept any Raiders from infiltrating to the vulnerable storehouses and camps.

Gunnar was in the thick of the fighting, preferring to get up close and personal with his opponents in the darkness of the night war. Shock was rampaging through the scattered Raiders, just like in the old days, tossing dozens of screaming men over the edge in glee. It was this desperate in-your-face, you-or-me fighting that Gunnar felt the most alive. When he fought, it was almost like his sub-conscious took over, with his conscious brain watching himself go at it. It was in this mode that all else disappeared: hunger, exhaustion, worry, confusion. In battle, everything in him focused on the duel, with a clarity that he failed to find anywhere else. He loved it.

Dashing in between the fighting Raiders and Vikings, everywhere he went his mask brought terror to his enemies and awe to the Vikings. The way he scythed through the Raiders and the way they fell back before him and Dragonfang was truly a sight to behold. He was in the middle of dispatching three Raiders at once when a red and orange blast burst in the sky above him. Snotlout and the artillery had finished clearing the attackers' archers and catapults from the ropes. It was time for the Razorwhips and the Wingmaidens to _really_ move in.

Diving from the clouds, Queen Lilja and her royal guards began severing ropes all around the island, sending many a climbing soldier or Raider to their deaths on the rocks below. Heather and Windshear went around the other way. Soon the flow of reinforcements onto New Berk halted, and the Raiders still on the island found themselves trapped.

The entire time the attack was going Freya was having an inner battle with herself. Hofferson vs Haddock. She wanted to help so badly. Having others fight for her was insufferable, especially in such a dire situation. She couldn't bear the thought of having _sat_ through an entire battle. But she _was_ six months pregnant and in no condition to fight. Gunnar would be furious if she dove in like she so wanted to.

So, she just stood on the porch of her house with her ax, standing next to a fidgeting Flashbang and all but hating herself. Watching her father blow stuff up, her mother kick butt, and her husband in the thick of things having a grand old time. She so wanted to join them, just like in the good ol' days. But she had to stay.

She was watching Stormfly dodge a volley of arrows when her eye caught something above her. Lake-eye, Flashbang's sleepier and chubbier brother, was far above the battle, but something was wrong. Then Freya saw what. A Deathgripper was tangling up close with the Nightlight, and the two of them were plummeting toward the ships below. Freya could see that Lake-eye was wounded and panicking, with the Deathgripper getting closer and closer to dousing the gentle dragon with its flaming acid.

Freya and Flashbang were in the air within a second, rocket climbing to intercept the falling pair. Flashbang began glowing with angry power as she charged up a plasma blast. Freya, despite her swollen belly, was leaning forward and analyzing the pair to figure out when the best opening would occur.

There it was! Flash let loose, but to both her and her rider's horror, the Deathgripper had disengaged at just the right time so that the blast smashed into Lake-eye's wing, sending him yowling farther downward. And Flash had bigger problems than just trying to catch her brother mid-flight. The Deathgripper was now coming for _them_, grinning its wicked grin and diving on the pair.

Freya grabbed onto Flash's saddle as she did an inverted high-g dive to get away from the less maneuverable Deathgripper. But the poisonous dragon stayed right on their tail, and it didn't look like he was going to get off any time soon. Flaring her wings, Flash moved from the vertical to the horizontal, racing for the island full of friendlies, hoping that someone would notice the chase and lend a hand. Her tactic worked. The commotion had been picked up by Toothless, who dove to catch Lake-eye, and had also attracted the attention of a very pissed-off Deathmirror... The smarter and more savage of the Fury siblings. Letting loose an infamous Banshee scream, Deathmirror impacted the side of the Deathgripper at an easy hundred mph, lighting into the dragon with a full barrage of enraged teeth and claws.

The tangling pair smashed into cliffside of the island, with Deathmirror continuing his attacks and pushing the head of the enemy dragon into the razor-sharp cliff edges as they fell. The green-eyed Nightlight was the only dragon to recover from that fall.

The whole fight was witnessed in part by Freya and Flash, now flying low over the continued battle on the island. The two of them were looking over their shoulder cheering the victorious Deathmirror, now escorting Toothless and Lake-eye, when Spitlout and Hookfire flew directly into their path. There was a bone-jarring smack as Flash, traveling at high speed, impacted the 4500 pounds of flaming muscle and knocked them both out of the sky.


	20. Chapter 19- Progress and Problems

**Chapter 19: Progress and Problems**

Gunnar cut down another enemy soldier and looked up at Astrid. Heather had just flown up to the Berkian general and given her a thumbs up to show that the ropes had been cut. Raising her ax, Astrid waved forward the rest of the Viking warriors and Riders. "They're trapped now! Push them off our island!" It was at this moment when Gunnar picked up Deathmirror's war cry. Both Astrid's and Gunnar's heads snapped up toward the dark sky. They were greeted with the sight of Lake-eye falling toward the fleet, Freya clinging to a desperately maneuvering Flashbang's back at low level, and Deathmirror tackling the offending Deathgripper into a cliff face.

They also saw Freya and Flash both look back at their falling attacker, cheer, then fly smack-dab into Hookfire's flank with a sickening crunch. The two dragons and their riders slammed into an ashen clearing just a couple dozen feet away from the two incredulous observers. The pair looked at each other and hurled themselves to the clearing as fast as they could.

Hookfire was on her back and wearing the most annoyed face a Monstrous Nightmare could possibly have on. Spitlout was sneezing his way out of a mound of ash, and Flash looked more like one of her brothers than herself. Freya was enveloped in her dragon's wings groaning from the impact. Astrid ran over to the downed dragon with Gunnar close to her heels.

"Freya! Are you ok?!" Astrid knelt down and looked closely at her daughter, searching for any obvious broken bones or other injuries. Freya shook her head and held her stomach. "Ugh, I think so. Flash took most of the impact. I just *mmgpphh* hope Lake-eye is ok. Ouch, my head hurts."

Gunnar sighed in relief, then frowned. "Uh, quick question. Do you realize the danger you just put yourself- and our baby\- in by jumping into a battle zone six months pregnant? You're in no condition whatsoever to be fighting. I thought we talked about this!"

His voice started rising as Freya looked up at him as if this fact was something new to her. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're ok, but I thought I made it _very_ clear that you were not to leave the village. If you had landed near the enemy, you would've been butchered within seconds! And on top of that, that's our _child_ that you just put through a mid-air collision with a 5000Ib lizard! What exactly were you thinking?!"

Astrid glared up at the angry soldier. "Gunnar! Not right now. This fight isn't over yet. I need you to get her and Flash back to your house ASAP. We still have plenty of Raiders to clean up."

Gunnar sighed, then nodded. "Got it. I'm sorry. Let's go hon, we gotta move."

There was a sneeze and a puff of ash from a couple yards away. "I'm fine too, thanks for asking!"

All three of them yelled "Shut up Spitlout!" at the same time. There was a humph and another sneeze behind the original puff.

Gunnar propped up the chastened Freya and whistled for Shock, who was there within a couple seconds. He hoisted her up onto Shock's saddle and drew Dragonfang. "I'll see you at the house, I've still got business to wrap up here. Take care of yourself, baby. Love you." Freya nodded mutely and she and Shock were off flying toward the village, followed by Flash. Astrid looked worriedly after the departing dragons before she flew off toward the farthest island edge.

Turning to Spitlout, he helped him dust off a bit, then handed the young Jorgenson his ax. "Ready to go?" Spitlout sneezed again and took his ax. "Born rea-AHCHOO! …Damn it."

Gunnar grinned then ran off toward the nearest sound of fighting. Spitlout hopped on the still annoyed Hookfire and followed.

/

The battle was over. By the time every Raider had been sniffed out and caught and the numerous fires had been put out, the sun was beginning its slow ascent into the sky. The exhausted but jubilant Vikings returned to their homes and camps on the island with a new-found hope. Hiccup, Astrid, and Aker were soon busy supervising clean-up, defense reconstruction, and medical care for the wounded Vikings. Astrid was in the middle of transporting the later on Stormfly when Gunnar came up to see if there was anything he could do to help.

Astrid took one look at him before he said anything. "Before you ask, no. You're going home and getting some sleep."

Gunnar was a bit taken aback. "You're still out here working. I'm not going to go take a nap while you guys are still out here."

Astrid gave him a look. "Have you seen Freya since last night?"

"No. Shock came back and said that Freya and Flash were settled in, but I haven't been able to go home since. Why?"

Astrid stopped what she was doing and sighed. "Gunnar, I don't know if you picked this up, but Freya is feeling pretty bad about last night, and she's worried about the baby. I know I am. You were also a little harsh. She seemed… off when I left. Throw spiked hormones in there, and you got a potential powder keg. You have bigger responsibilities at home right now than helping us. You already did your part. Go home. Check on Freya. Rest up. Something tells me you're going to be really busy soon anyways, so you need the rest."

Gunnar looked at Stormfly's leg for a second. He suddenly felt exhausted. "You're right. Lemme know if you need anything. You'll know where to find me."

Astrid nodded approvingly. "Actually! If you're fine with it, I'd like to borrow Shock while you're busy. Me and Stormfly could use his muscle for a bit." Stormfly squawked disapprovingly. Astrid put her hands on her hips. "Girl, both you and I know that you're not as strong as you used to be, and a young titanwing could come in handy for lifting heavy stuff. Admit it."

"Fine with me. See you in a bit."

Gunnar walked home slowly. He was feeling truly exhausted. Besides having been fighting for hours and not getting any sleep for the past, what, 2 days? Gunnar had been throwing himself at preparing for the war for the past 7ish months. On top of that, as the war got closer, the frequency of The Nightmare had been increasing exponentially, destroying the effectiveness of what sleep he _had_ been getting. In fact, he had had one the last time he was asleep. It was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday, instead of five years ago.

_The search. The most painful days of his life. Desperately digging, looking, tracking, trying to find anything that would tell him what happened to… **them**. Clutching to the tinniest of hopes that maybe they weren't in amongst their neighbors in the square. That the disfigured heads on pikes surrounding the Great Pyre weren't theirs. Then the discovery. Finding the Necklace in the ash. The little locket, with its' three sets of initials now melted and gone. The crushing despair. The mourning. Poor Shock trying to comfort him. The little grave under the apple trees in the field west of town. _

_Then the Raiders who found him sitting there._

Ugh. He wished he could just get rid of those memories permanently. Why do I remember most accurately the things I want to forget most desperately? He thought. That's the question. He was home. He walked into the kitchen and saw Freya dejectedly picking at a bowl of food. Yep, multiple things wrong with _that_ picture. No greeting, not eating, and no smile in general. Something was very wrong. And it was probably his fault.

He disconnected his cross belts and leaned his weapons against the door frame. He sat down and looked at her with a small smile. "Hey hon. You feeling ok? You seem a little down." She just sniffled. He tried again. "Listen. I was a bit harsh last night. I shouldn't have-"

Freya suddenly burst into tears. "I'm going to be a horrible mother!"

Gunnar just sat and looked at his bawling wife in shock. He had heard plenty of stories of hormonal meltdowns, but he hadn't heard a single story on how to _deal_ with one. He had no idea where to start. He quickly went around the table and sat down next to her.

"Hey, listen, it's going to be ok. You're going to be a great mother! What in the world made you think that you wouldn't? That's like saying that a Changewing is going to be horrible at hiding itself. It's ridiculous."

She sniffled again. "It's just, *sniff* what you said last night was right. I just flung myself and our baby into a dangerous situation without a second thought, and now thanks to me, he probably has brain damage! He'll be scarred for life!" She started bawling again.

"What? Brain damage? How would…? Where did you even get that idea?" He was answered with more sobs. He had never seen Freya even come remotely close to crying in his life, but she was now crying harder than she probably had ever before. Her normal hormonal outbursts where just to get angry about something, but this… what was he supposed to do?

She pulled away from him. "And now you *sob* probably hate me now for hurting your baby!" She started sobbing louder. He was absolutely thunderstruck. He had never been speechless before, but this must be what it feels like. He couldn't comprehend what was transpiring before his eyes right now.

Eret Jr walked in. "Hey guy! Terror mail for-" he took one look at Freya sobbing at the table and Gunnar's utterly baffled face, put the scroll on the table and left with one of the most surprised expressions one could imagine. I'd better find Astrid, the young man thought.

Gunnar watched him go with sheer helplessness. He tried again. "Hey. Hey! That's complete yak dung, and you know it. Where did you get that idea? It's so preposterous I don't even know where to start. I love you! I don't hate you!"

She pulled farther away from him. "You don't love me! *sob* You just called me stupid!"

"When did- What? I did?"

He was still sitting there trying to wrap his head around the situation when Astrid burst into the room. Freya was immediately crying into her armor. Astrid looked critically at the tired young husband. "What did you do?" she mouthed to Gunnar. All he could do was shrug in complete confusion. Astrid shook her head and Gunnar thought he saw her grin before she started comforting her daughter.

Astrid looked up at him, still sitting there staring at his wife blankly. "I'm going to take her to my house. You need to get some sleep. And wash that blood off of yourself. You look like a gutted Viking that just showed up to Valhalla." He looked in surprise at his armor, which was indeed still splattered with gore from the bloody work from the night before. When he looked back up, she was gone.

After washing up, he was about to hit the sack when he saw Eret's terror mail on the table. He walked over and read it. He sighed. Perfect timing on one hand, he thought, but perfect timing on the other. I've got bigger problems. I'll think about that after my nap. He put the scroll down and was soon asleep.

As he did, the chieftains were buzzing with the same news that was on the scroll. The Irish had rebelled. All they have to do was deal with Dreadlac's expected safeguard force then they could begin to destroy his armies' supply lines. And then the grand noose could begin to tighten.


	21. Chapter 20- The Noose Begins to Tighten

**Chapter 20: The Noose Begins to Tighten**

Gunnar was still asleep when Freya came home that night. She had stayed at her parents' house all day, and she was now feeling much better. When she came in Gunnar was passed out on the couch, with his dirty weapons still leaning on the doorway of the kitchen. She sat down next to him and shook his shoulder. All she got was a mumble. She shook him harder. "Hey! It's getting a little late. You've been sleeping all day. You wanna talk?" He mumbled some more, then it seemed as if he suddenly remembered what happened earlier and he opened his eyes, warily studying his wife, almost as if he was expecting her to explode.

"Good morning. Or evening. You ah… feeling better?" he asked hopefully.

She smiled, a little ashamed. "Yeah. This morning was just a bad combination of no sleep, a lot of stress, and an overload of emotions from the attack last night. And hormones, I guess. Are you ok? I don't really remember everything that happened, but Mom said that you seemed completely, what did she say, flabbergasted? Speechless? Out of it?"

He sat up and stretched his neck, laughing a little bit. "Yeah, all correct. I don't think I've ever felt so confused and helpless before. I had no idea what to say."

She flushed with embarrassment. "Yeah, sorry about that. I shouldn't have dumped all of that on you when you were already exhausted from working so hard. It's just you were right, and I guess I blew everything out of proportion."

"No, I should be the one apologizing. I shouldn't have barked at you. And what was I expecting anyways? To keep a Hofferson out of a fight?"

She laughed. "Yeah, I guess there was no way one of _us_ could sit out a fight. But I'm also a Haddock, you know."

"And that's supposed to help how?"

"Good point. Did you see the T-mail that Eret Jr. dropped off?"

He nodded. "Yes, I did. The Irish have finally revolted. Once they destroy Dreadlac's supply depots he's going to start feeling the squeeze." He frowned. "Which means the time when I gotta leave and start raiding his scavenging convoys is getting nearer."

She smiled and learned her head against his shoulder. "Well, you're here now. Worry about that when the time comes. Let's get something to eat."

He put his arm around her shoulder. "Love you."

She was about to say something in reply when she gasped. He looked at her questioningly. She looked at him with a euphoric smile. "I just felt a kick."

/

Dreadlac attempted four more assaults within the next three weeks, each one beaten back by the Vikings, whose confidence was growing with each new victory. On top of that, news had been arriving from outside the siege that the mobile Viking fleets had begun their raids on any of Dreadlac's sub-forces that were separated from the main force at New Berk. The Berserkers and the Outcasts were proving especially… thorough.

Gunnar began his raids soon after the assaults on New Berk died down. He took about 12 capable riders with him. Spitlout, Rod, Rod's sister Asfrid and her Nadder Eclipse (one of Stormfly's offspring), Annika, Eret Jr, Aker (with his Triple Stryke, Quickstinger), Buttnut, and Breka made up the Berkians in the group. The rest consisted of a pair of Dramillion-riding Scarheads named Knut and Kjell, a Wingmaiden royal guard named Eydis, a Gronckle mounted Ingman by the name of Magnhild, and the Defender's top infiltration experts, Ragna and Thorolf (who rode along despite having no dragons of their own). This brought Gunnar's mounted strike force to a total of 15.

They departed on their first raid in the pitch darkness of a cloudy, rainy night. Freya and Flashbang watched them go, along with many of the family and friends of the group. They headed East, out of sight of the besieging fleets. They were set to link up with the Scarhead fleet hidden in the ship graveyard where the _Reaper_ was sunk. They would work from there for an estimated three weeks, then head back to New Berk for rest and recuperation. Then the next trip out would head in a different direction and meet up with a different fleet.

Despite the all of the variations, Gunnar's trips had one goal: to destroy any and all Dreadlacian detachments that they could find separated from the main fleet at New Berk. Foraging parties and supply convoys were high-priority targets. Since the Irish had destroyed Dreadlac's stockpiles back at Ireland, all they had to do was make sure he couldn't resupply from other sources and wait for him to go through the food that his fleets had brought with them. Then he'd be forced to make a move. And a mistake.

They sighted the Scarhead fleet after about 4 days of travel. Chief Skarsgard had the third biggest war fleet in the Archipelago, besides the Berserkers and the Outcasts. The fourth overall, as the trading fleet of the Fair Shippers eclipsed all but the Berserkers in size. They landed on the Chief's flagship and was met by the bald and portly (but dangerous) looking man. He had a bristling bright red beard and his bald head was covered in the ceremonial scars denoting his power and accomplishments as a warrior.

Gunnar dismounted and shook the man's hand. "Good to meet you again Chief. I hope nothing has gone amiss since you spotted the enemy fleet a week ago?"

The big man shook his head. "No, me lad, we've been watching 'em for a while now. They've been doin' a lot of huntin' on Stag Island. Me guess is that they were re-tasked to forage some food before rejoining the main fleet. How's New Berk doin'? Are our families still faring fine?"

Gunnar nodded. "Your people are still quite safe. We've repelled roughly 5 assaults already and it looks like they've given up and settled in for a siege. Are your men already prepped for the attack? We can't let one ship's worth of supplies get away."

Skarsgard grinned with his full complement of 13 teeth. "Oh, we've been spoiling for a fight. Most of the lads have been getting quite sick of hidin' here in the fog."

Gunnar grinned back. "Good to hear. I'll rest up my riders and we'll attack in the morning."

"Sounds like a plan."

/

The lookout on the bow of the Dreadlacian ship stared blankly at the empty ocean in the early light of dawn. They were due to leave this stupid island as soon as the last few hunting parties returned. And speaking of people due, he could swear his replacement was late. Suddenly, he rubbed his eyes and squinted in the direction the fog banks a couple miles away. Yeah, he was tired. It looked like an entire Viking fleet was coming out of the fog, but it had to be a mirage. There weren't any Viking ships within a hundred miles of them. They were all holed up at that sky island place.

His eyes widened. There were dragons flying above the mirage fleet. Nope! Wasn't a mirage! The ships with the crossed swords and flaming red Viking heads on their sails were _very_ real! But before he could give a shout, a tremendous explosion rocked the admiral's flagship. A bright red dragon martialized on the hull of his ship and shot a blast off acid into the side, before flying off and disappearing again. Cries of "Dragon attack!" echoed throughout the waking fleet, and all eyes focused on the 8 or so dragons suddenly circling above them.

Gunnar watched his riders' attack with approval. They definitely knew how to disassemble inexperienced ships. The rest of his less-than-stealthy riders- Buttnut, Spitlout, Breka, Magnhild, and the Scarhead brothers- were flying directly behind him. Glancing down, he saw Skarsgard excitedly order full sails, and the Scarhead fleet leapt forward to begin their attack on the still-anchored enemy fleet.

The Dreadlacian fleet had no idea what hit them. Even though it had more on-board weapons than the Scarhead fleet and was captained by a fanatical and dangerous admiral, it was mostly crewed by conscripts and slaves. It had very few Raiders and Huscarls on board due to the need at New Berk. Just enough to enforce discipline on the cannon fodder that maned most of the ships. Gunnar knew this, and this was why he chose this particular fleet to begin testing his Riders on.

With the rest of his Riders diving in on the ships, and the Scarhead fleet smashing into the still anchored enemy vessels, Gunnar circled above the fray and began sniping any Huscarls or Raiders he could spot. He could see, especially on the outer ring of enemy ships, small groups on conscripts turning their weapons upon their masters just as Gunnar had planned.

He ran into one snag, however. Although the fleet _was_ maned primarily by foreign conscripts, the number of conscripts that did surrender or turn was incredibly lower than the what he expected, even after all of the Raiders and Huscarls on board were removed. The Scarheads only captured about 100 conscripts, mostly Irishmen.

Gunnar questioned them in their native Irish tongue. What he found out surprised him. The prisoners said that Dreadlac's men actually slowly poisoned (or cursed, as some of the superstitious one said) the conscript's food to control them- they weren't sure with what. The weakest ones of them and the ones that had been captured for the longest time succumbed and became almost brain dead, willing to kill even their own people if ordered to. They had seen it happen before. The spokesperson of the Irishmen in the group, a tough Northerner named Declan, shuddered as he said it, as did rest of the group. Gunnar was shocked. Whatever that drug was, it must be incredibly powerful.

Upon further questioning, Gunnar found that only about 50 or so of the prisoners were healthy and willing to fight with the Vikings. Chief Skarsgard gladly excepted them into his fleet, but as a precaution they were scattered among the ships and the Scarheads were only too happy to keep an eye on them. The rest were taken prisoner, with the hope that the poison would drain out of them in time. Gunnar just put the new-found info about the poison away as another evil of Dreadlac's- he never thought of what it could mean… and that more was to come.


	22. Chapter 21- A Brewing Storm

**Chapter 21: A Brewing Storm**

Dreadlac stared at the lone island, it's sheer cliffs and determined defenders taunting him. They could withstand any conventional assault he could throw at it, and they knew it. He was becoming increasingly frustrated. He had few dragons, nowhere near enough to take the all-too-essential air superiority he needed from the veteran dragon flyers. And seldom did they venture down within his hunters' bow range. They simply waited for his men to climb up, cut whatever they used to get up there, then destroyed everyone that made it to the top.

To make matters worse, news had just reached him that all of Ireland had revolted, burning his long-hoarded stocks of food and supplies, as well as destroying his safeguard force. Fools! Obviously, he had made a mistake leaving any of them alive. As soon as he returns, he will burn them all to the ground. But the problem of the Vikings still remains. Mobile fleets of swift Viking longships were patrolling his perimeters, destroying any foraging party or supply convoy he sent out to bring back food for his army. And every time he tried to catch one of those Viking fleets, they would outrun his ships and disappear. Until he left. Then they would be back on the prowl again, feasting themselves on his stocks and mysteriously avoiding his most clever traps. It was a level of cooperation between the different Viking tribes that he could not understand.

But the reason behind the mystery may have been discovered. His spy on New Berk had confirmed that the Butcher was in an important leadership role within the tribes opposing him. With the ever-increasing number of sightings of his accursed mask orchestrating many of the Viking victories on his eastern flank, Dreadlac had no doubt now. The Butcher was working with the Vikings and using them to completely outmaneuver him. It was clear that he was a vital lynchpin holding the Vikings together, but a lynchpin that could not be touched. And it was pissing him off!

He needed to calm down. What would be the next step? He would have to make a move, and soon. Before his armies starve. He would have to do something… unexpected. The Butcher was a lynchpin that could not be removed, yes… but other lynchpins could. He wanted to assault New Berk one more time. Just one more time. But this time, we would have to use his secret playing card. Dreadlac grinned to himself. He would lead this one personally. Then once New Berk fell, he would hunt down that Butcher and put his head on a pike. He barked some orders and went down below to plan.

/

Gunnar frowned and studied the map. As the squeeze was getting tighter around the besieging fleet at New Berk, it was getting more and more imperative to prepare for his final trap. His main problem was a lack of warriors for the fight that he was envisioning. He knew that down in Ireland there was a sizable army of his people just waiting to get their hands on Dreadlac's throat, but the problem was they didn't have ships. There were tribes here that had ships, but no warriors. He was hoping to combine the two today, but so far… greed was getting in the way.

Across from him sat Master Trader Sigmund of the Northern Trading Guild. The scrawny man looked unhappily at the map. "Master Outlaw, I assure you we at the Northern Trading Guild really appreciate what you and your fellow Vikings are doing with this dreadful invasion problem. And I want nothing more than to help you in your heroic fight with the dastardly enemy, but we are just traders, not warriors."

Gunnar sighed in exasperation. "I _know_ that Sigmund, which is why I'm asking for you to do this instead of fight. We need more warriors. You and your people won't be able to personally fill that need, but what you _can_ do is _bring_ us more. No one knows the waters of the Archipelago like you and your shipmasters, so you'll have a better chance than anyone else."

"On that point I cannot help but agree with you, but maybe you don't realize how expensive this proposition is. To take my _entire_ trading fleet, sneak it all of the way down to _Ireland_ of all places, load up- and feed- a bunch of their smelly shirtless warriors onto _my_ clean boats, then sneak them back up is preposterous. Absolutely preposterous."

Gunnar threw his hands up in the air. "What will it take for you to do it in a timely fashion, huh?! Money?"

Gunnar saw a light turn on in the greedy trader's eyes. "Well now, since you do bring up the subject of commerce, I might suggest-" Gunnar slammed his knife into the table hard enough to make the cups jump. The trader recoiled backwards at the angry look being flung at him.

"I'll tell you exactly what **_I_** suggest. I'm going to give you two options. You will pick one or the other. Number 1: You ship my warriors to where I want them for _free_, since everybody else is paying for _your_ safety in their BLOOD, or, Number 2, you don't, and either get hunted down, killed, and looted by Dreadlac once we're all dead, or every tribe in the Archipelago will remember your decision not to help and decide to do business with your competition in the lucrative days of repair and reconstruction. Got it?"

The Master Trader took a look at Gunnar's face. "Now then, Master Outlaw, no need to get violent here, you make an excellent point. We will ship your soldiers from our own purse."

Gunnar stood up. "I'm glad you see the other side of the coin. We're relying on the safe transportation of those troops for the wellbeing of the entire Archipelago. Don't fail, merchant."

Trader Sigmund gulped. "As the Cannibal King of Tahiti once said, 'Once I give my word, to fail means death'. A fitting statement, considering the circumstances. Don't you worry, Master Outlaw, we'll transport those fine Irish warriors of yours so fast it will be like they're riding the waves of Poseidon himself."

"Good to hear." Gunnar said in a completely monotone voice. "I'll see you in a couple weeks."

Gunnar stepped outside. Aker looked at him. "Wow. You got that greedy pile of yak dung to ship you an army for free. Long distance, too."

Gunnar shrugged. "Pretty simple. Evaluate your position. Take a look at his. Scare 'im. Bam, shipping fleet."

"Wouldn't that hurt our future relations with the Trading Guild?"

"Uh, _we_ pay _them_. If they want our money, they serve _us_. And if they try to pull an embargo or something later, we've got plenty of other merchant companies to choose from. Some of those are probably going to be cheaper anyways. It's just, I've been fighting a war for the past… what, six months? And I'm feeling very impatient for people like that."

Aker nodded and shot a glare at the colorful and luxurious silk tent. "I know what you mean. Dad should've retired and been enjoying life by now. But now he and mom are running an island under siege instead of taking that exploring trip that they wanted to take so much."

"Yep." Gunnar nodded to the other riders standing around. "Ok people, our job here is done. Mount up. We're heading back to New Berk." They nodded. Aker was about to hop onto Quickstinger when he noticed Eydis, the Wingmaiden royal guard, worriedly petting her exhausted Razorwhip baby. It was at least another two-day trip back to New Berk.

He made up his mind. "Hey Eydis!" She looked up at him questioningly. "You wanna ride with me and Quickstinger this time? She won't mind. It looks like your Razorwhip is tired out and needs a break."

Eydis smiled gratefully and nodded. Quickstinger looked slyly up at Aker as he tightened the saddle straps. "What? Don't get any ideas, Sting. I'm just being nice. It's what a chief should do. Help the needy and all that, you know." The majestic Triple Stryke just rolled her eyes.

/

Back on New Berk, Chief Hiccup was standing next to the docks looking out over the vast expanse of the enemy fleet obstinately staying around his village. Something was wrong. Ever since this morning both he and Astrid had been feeling… _off_. A sixth sense, developed over years of dealing with sneaky opponents and devious tricks, had been steadily growing in him. Their dragons too. Both Toothless and Stormfly had been extra jumpy lately.

He squinted in the early morning light. It was uncommonly clear and cloudless, and a strange shape was growing far back in the enemy fleet. He took out his spy glass and focused in on the shape. Ah-hah. The old instincts never fail.

Within the tight circle of his spy glasses' sight was a humungous construction unlike anything he had ever seen before. Scaffolding concealed most of the details, but he could see that it was a built on a platform placed on four large ships' hulls, and extra-large catapult boulders were being stockpiled in a barge next to it. It must be a siege engine of some sort. Suddenly he stiffened. He arced his glass to the left, then to the right.

He counted at least five more of the structures spread out amongst the innumerable ships. Dreadlac had one more assault in him before Gunnar's plan would come into effect. And it was going to be a big one.

As he walked away from the cliff edge, both he and Toothless failed to notice the shrouded piles of tightly-closed clay jars being stacked next to the enemy catapults far below.


	23. Chapter 22- Poison and Planning

**Chapter 22: Poison and Planning**

Astrid and Hiccup were doing their early morning rounds of the guard posts together. They still loved to talk about what they were going to do when Aker took over. Their favorite plan was to visit all of the memorable places from their childhood. Vanaheim. The Edge. Dragon Island. Old Berk. Valka's ice nest. The Hidden Kingdom. And especially the peaceful old Cove where it all started. Astrid also wanted to visit Garf on Melody Island, and Hiccup really wanted to see how Thornado and his adopted kids were doing. Just the two of them, the sun rise, and their memories.

But first they had to get through this war. And with the strange machines growing ever larger in the distance, and Gunnar's warning that Dreadlac hadn't sent in his elite Huscarls in yet for a reason, things were getting tense. Particularly with Freya closing in on 8 months. They finished checking the guard posts and began their low-level flight back to Berk.

Suddenly, something hit both of them. A wave of foreboding smashed into their pleasant conversation. They looked at each other worriedly. Astrid was the first to speak. "What was _that_?"

Hiccup looked out at the enemy fleet. "I don't know. Something is happening."

Astrid's eyebrows furrowed. "Let's get back to Village. Now."

Their dragons, feeling the urgency themselves, dashed toward the village. A horrifying sight awaited them when they ascended the crest and looked down.

The village was under fire. A barrage of strange missiles smashed all around the town, each impact creating a small cloud of sickly green gas. All of the unfortunate Vikings caught in the poison were collapsing and coughing up blood, while the dragons who stayed in the cloud too long began to sneeze and drop out of the sky- from what looked like sudden lethargy.

Hiccup gasped. "Poison gas?! How is this possible!? We have to round up some Nightmares and quick!"

The two of them dove toward the village, flying past the gaggle of Vikings fleeing from the town and into the crowded tents and camps surrounding. Hiccup found Snotlout and Minden racing in from their patrol. Snotlout was the first to see Hiccup. "Hey Hiccup! What's going on? We heard the screams…" he spotted a flying canaster explode on the roof of a house in a cloud of thick green gas. "Uh…what're those things?!"

Hiccup brought Toothless to a hover. "I don't know how, but they're poison gas canasters! Snotlout! I need you and Minden to round up as many Monstrous Nightmares as you can find and start wind blasting the gas of off the island! Make sure your dragons don't get in the gas!"

"Well, pbthpbth. We know that! Where is Gunnar and his team?"

Hiccup shrugged. "No idea. They're due any day now but they haven't arrived yet. Get going!"

The two Jorgensons nodded and split up. Hiccup was about to see if any of the artillery crews were still available to neutralize the enemies' launchers when he heard a gasp from above him. He followed Astrid's line of sight to see Freya, practically immobile at this stage of her pregnancy, trying to head for the cover of the woods supported by Flashbang. He also saw, as if in slow motion, a cannister of gas arching down from above, heading directly toward the two on the ground.

Before he could get Toothless to shoot it, he saw the cannister shatter. But not on the ground. On Stormfly. He watched in horror as Astrid and her dragon fell screaming out from behind the airborne cloud, and impact just yards away from the stunned Freya. Yelling, Hiccup and Toothless dove in on the inert pair.

He leapt off of Toothless and rushed to Astrid's side. Freya scrambled onto Flash's back and came running over. "Astrid! Astrid, can you hear me?" The cheiftess looked like she had just punched a Slitherwing again. She mumbled something incoherent, her breaths coming out ragged and shallow. Freya stared at them, fear etched all over her face. "Dad, what's happening? Is Mom ok? What happened to her?!"

He looked up as pair of Nightmares swooped up to right above them and swung their huge wings outward, sending a blast of powerful wind over the village blowing carts, sticks, dust, and gas out to sea. The roar of a handful of Thunderdrums echoed throughout the mountains… along with the wicked sound of cheers coming from the ships below them.

"Your mother got hit by a poison gas cannister that was headed right for you. Check Stormfly! See if she's alright." He bent down and looked at his wife's ashen face. "Astrid! Stay with me, ok? You just hang on. We're going to get you fixed up." She suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood all over his armor and cape as she tried to say something.

A Viking ran up. "Chief! We're getting the gas under control, but they just keep launching more. Some have begun to impact in the camps! What do we do?!"

Hiccup looked up from cradling his sick wife's head. "Get the artillery crews to their weapons and tell them to knock out those launchers NOW!" The Viking nodded and sprinted off toward the cliff edge. Valka and Cloudjumper landed next to Toothless.

"Son! Are you all right?" She saw Stormfly weakly sneeze and Astrid cough again as Hiccup was trying to hold it together. Before she could say something else, the deep roar of the alarm horn echoed over the island. Both Valka and Hiccup's heads jerked up. All over the perimeter, the lookout's attack signals where flying into the air. Cries of 'grappling hooks incoming!' drifted in from the cliffs. Dreadlac's final all-out assault was about to smash into them. And they'd been caught completely off guard.

/

Dreadlac looked approvingly at the chaos rising from the village, especially the sight of dragons dropping out of the sky. He turned to Hackett. "Signal the assault." The man ran off. He turned to another aide. "Did our saboteur do his job?"

The man nodded. "Aye sir! All of the central dragon pens on the island have been successfully gassed. We just knocked out almost all of their airborne forces. " Dreadlac grinned and cast a glance at the shrouded figure standing next to him. "Well Uldrig. It looks like your poison bombs are working just as you said they would."

The man looked in abominable satisfaction from the distress coming from the town. A raspy and evil voice came from the hood. "Aye. Just like in the tests. Any humans who get infected would be incapacitated within minutes and dead within days. Any dragons… well, I'm still not entirely sure what effects Blue Oleander has on the beasts, but from the way things are looking, it appears to be effective."

Dreadlac nodded. "Yes. And now to introduce them to another weapon of mine. Open fire on the village!" Behind the pair, the towers of scaffolding fell away to reveal giant trebuchets hidden underneath. The six massive siege weapons began flinging flaming, four-ton boulders into the island, each impact reverberating across the fleet as it clustered toward the cliffs to offload its soldiers. Great plumes of smoke rose from burning houses and ships on shore.

Scores of dragon-proof steel cables soared up and latched onto the island. Hundreds of Raiders and horned, heavily armored Huscarls swarmed up the ropes. The Viking lookouts fled the onslaught and retreated toward the village. So far, the assault was proceeding as planned.

/

Hiccup watched as Valka and Cloudjumper, carrying Stormfly and his Astrid, dashed for the safety of the hospital, followed by Freya and Flashbang. He turned to Toothless. "Well bud, it looks like it's just you and me again." Toothless rubbed his head on Hiccup and purred. Suddenly, he turned and snarled in the direction of the enemy fleet. A massive flaming boulder flew through the air and smashed into the town, setting ablaze a handful of houses. Hiccup's eyes narrowed. He had had about enough of this.

Launching themselves into the air, Hiccup surveyed the island. He was joined by Fishlegs, Snotlout, Minden, Ruff and Tuff, Heather, Queen Lilja and a handful of other riders. Heather waved her hand to get his attention. "Hiccup! Someone poisoned all of the dragons in the lower stable before the attack! We're getting them stabilized, but they're completely out of commission. All we've got are the riders that are here, and a handful of wild dragons."

Hiccup nodded. "We've also got Deathmirror and Whiteout. Even though Lake-eye is still in the hospital, we can make do with what we've got. You guys try to cut off the enemy soldiers getting onto the island. Toothless and I are going to organize the chiefs on the ground drive this batch off our island. Queen Lilja, would you and your Wingmaidens mind coming with me?"

The Queen nodded. "I and my warriors are yours to command, Chief Hiccup."

"Thanks. Ok! Let's go!"

The group split. Hiccup dove for the mass of Viking Banners forming up outside of their encampments. The rest left for the cliff edges. Hiccup landed next to the main gathering of Chieftains. The sound of battle rose in the distance as the first wave of Raiders smashed into the outer Viking defenses.

The massive Chieftess Gunhild of the Bloodhats was in her full battle regalia. She nodded her head as Hiccup and Queen Lilja landed. "Berk Chief. Are we clear to begin counterattack as planned?"

Hiccup looked at the seven chiefs looking at him. It was his island; he was in charge. "Ok, we're going to have to change our plan. Most of the dragons are out of commission, so we're going to be going in with minimal air support. I'll do what I can, but you guys on the ground are going to be bearing the brunt of the fighting. Cheiftess Gunhild, will you and your Bloodhats lead the main push along the northern coastline if I put my Berkian warriors under your command?"

She massive woman nodded slowly. "Gunhild will lead personally."

"Thank you. King Carr, Chief Ingolf, I'm going to need your warriors as a reserve to fill any holes that may appear, and to act as the final push. If that's ok with you." The scrawny Muttonhead King shrugged. "Normally we'd be angry for being left out of the main line, but given your leadership over the past, we will do our part as instructed." The chubby Ingman chieftain, looking very out of place with an ax and a shield, nodded enthusiastically.

"Awesome. Chief Balder, if you and your soldiers can handle the center push toward the cliff line, that would be great." The ferocious man merely glanced at Hiccup and bowed his scarred head.

"Ok, Cheiftess Sassa, you'll be leading your forces along the Southern coastline." The crazy-looking woman cackled.

"Finally, Queen Rona, you and your Defenders are going to be our last line of defense for the camps and the village. Keep them safe." Queen Rona eloquently bowed her head. "It will be done, o great chieftain."

"All right, if everyone is clear on their roles, then we can go. Lilja, you and your Wingmaidens will be with me and Toothless giving whatever air support we can give." As the Wingmaiden leader nodded, the rumble of Trebuchet rounds impacting, along with the cries of battle, grew louder.

The combined Viking army streamed out of their encampments and toward the black mass swarming with deadly intent upon the Village. With little to no air support, this was going to be a bloody battle for both sides.


	24. Chapter 23- A Hurricane of Steel

**Chapter 23: A Hurricane of Steel**

Gunnar and his group were flying high and dry toward New Berk at a leisurely pace. They had been flying almost all night. Annika was chatting with Rod (the two of them had their 6-month betrothal ceremony just a few weeks ago) when her sharp eyes spotted something on the horizon.

"Hey Gunnar! Black smoke directly ahead. It looks like it's coming from New Berk!"

Gunnar peered at the tendrils of black breaking through the fluffy white floor far ahead of them. "Dreadlac's final assault." he breathed. It looks bad, he thought. Freya better be OK. He turned to his group. "New Berk is under assault! Pick up the pace guys, we're needed!"

The whole group tucked in their wings and dove to right above the cloud cover. They were soon speeding toward the ever-growing black strings on the horizon.

/

Hiccup ducked as a volley of arrows sailed right above his head. Toothless did a quick barrel roll then blasted the tight group of offending archers over the cliff edge. Winging back around, the pair of them shot for Cheiftess Sassa and her Despicables. The battle had been going on for a good two hours by now, with no end in sight.

It had been utter chaos, with the advantage see-sawing between the combatants. At first, the swarming Raiders had quickly overwhelmed the first few scattered groups of Vikings, slaying anybody they caught. But as soon as they ran into the main prongs of Viking warriors issuing from the camps, they rebounded off of the wall of muscle like a catapult boulder off of a Red Death. There was a quick respite as they fell back and re-grouped behind the Dreadlacian Huscarl's Phalanxes.

Hiccup for a second had thought that they had won already, but as soon as the 7 or so enemy phalanxes started their slow, unstoppable advance, he knew that there was still plenty of fighting left. It was at this point that he really started feeling the empty space at his side where Astrid usually flew.

The battle truly began when the Vikings ran head-first into the solid wall of the Huscarl phalanxes. With their support from clumps of archers hidden within the formations, Hiccup didn't have the firepower to breakthrough their screen and blow up the tightly-packed blocks carving into the Vikings on the ground. The Despicables were the first to break. Reliable fighters for chaos and destruction, Cheiftess Sassa had no idea how to counter the solid enemy formations, and soon Hiccup was having to divert almost all of his riders to support Sassa and her men.

The Skodians were slowly giving ground all of the while, Chief Balder refusing to break but unable to stop the steady tread of the Dreadlacian Phalanxes. He needed dragons as well to blast the Huscarls apart, but due to the sabotage of the stables before the attack, Hiccup had none to give.

The whole Viking line was anchored on Chieftess Gunhild's Bloodhats and the Berkian warriors to the North. Despite having the weight of 3 of the largest enemy formations pressing down upon her, Gunhild refused to budge. She and her warriors stood firm, With the Berkian stubbornness combined with the Bloodhat's raw mass stopping, and in some cases, breaking, the enemy assault formations. Gunhild herself was in the thick if the fighting, swinging her huge bludgeon side to side, sending Huscarls flying every which way.

Hiccup's few Riders were doing good work. All of them were veterans with decades of combined experience in combat, efficiently cutting through the enemy troops, ducking, dodging, blasting, and overall just destroying whatever they could. But there were too few of them. Too few to attack the enemy _and_ figure out how to cut the dragon-proof cables feeding more and more Raiders and Huscarls onto the island.

The battle had reached a stalemate. Both sides had stalled upon each other, with Hiccup being completely clueless as how to break the deadlock. Astrid would've known how to. But suddenly, the Dreadlacians broke it for him. A cry of despair rose from the North. Gunhild had fallen, pierced through by five pikes at once, and the Bloodhats broke. The Berkians followed them back to camp, where they reorganized to go recover the Cheiftess' body, but the damage was done.

Balder, finding his left flank suddenly open, ordered a fighting withdrawal back to central camp's defenses, his tough and dependable Skodians covering the near-panicked rout of the Despicables. The Dreadlacian Raiders would have been among the camp and the civilians within if it wasn't for the counter charge of the Ingmen and the Muttonheads. Although neither tribe was very war-like, their charge stopped the enemy advance long enough for the Despicables and the Skodians to re-organize and re-take their places in the line, once again stabilizing the front for a little bit.

It was at this point that something happened that the Vikings would be talking about for the next couple of years. A group of the now-leaderless Bloodhats, determined to go recover their cheiftess' body, grouped together and launched a surprise assault, slicing through the surprised Dreadlacian spearwall until they reached Gunhild's body. They reverently placed her huge bulk onto a stretcher and heroically cut their way back to the entrenchments surrounding the camps.

After the Bloodhats' push, there was a lull in the fighting. Hiccup used the pause to quickly check in with the chiefs on the ground, and to give his riders a quick rest. He also had the defensive artillery stationed around the village to turn their attention to the Dreadlacian troop concentrations massing for the final assault upon the Viking positions. In one particular moment when he had a chance to catch his breath (he _was_ around 43), he was extremely tempted to race to the hospital to check on Astrid but thought better of it. Unless she was awake and ready to go, he wouldn't be able to leave her bedside. He had his people to be thinking about.

He was gulping down a quick drink and wondering where Gunnar and his Riders were when he heard a cry. Snotlout on Hookfang was diving towards him holding a limp Minden in his arms.

Hiccup had grown accustomed to Minden's strange mix of Snotlout-like views on life and mannerisms but Wingmaiden professionalism and quietness. Over the years since Snotlout had persuaded her to leave Wingmaiden island she had proven to be a devoted mother to her two children, Spitlout and Annika, and a popular person on Berk. Probably because her cute British accent was so different from everyone else's, but also because ever since she showed up Snotlout had become significantly less abrasive and inconsiderate. Hiccup was glad to have her in the Hooligan tribe.

But now her normal bright eyes were closed, and a wicked-looking arrow stuck out of her stomach, pinning her dead Razorwhip baby to her back. She was bruised up as if she had suffered a long fall. Snotlout was on the verge of tears, and Hookfang, who had grown a special liking to his rider's mate, was just as crestfallen. Hiccup ran up and took a careful look at the limp Wingmaiden.

"Snotlout, what happened?!"

The Jorgenson's tear-stained face looked absolutely dejected and helpless. "I don't know! We were just flying, talking about how to cut those STUPID hook-thingies when she gets hit out of nowhere! Me and Hooky tried to catch her, but her Razorwhip was hit and couldn't fly, and they hit a STUPID tree before we could catch them! I got her out of there as fast as I could, but she hasn't said anything since and… I'm afraid that she's…"

Hiccup felt the Wingmaiden's neck looked up at the crestfallen Viking's face. "She's dead. I'm so sorry Snotlout. It wasn't your fault."

"But this is! If I had caught her she would still be-" He was interrupted by a massive roar as the Dreadlacian forces surged against the Viking's line. More soldiers had clambered up the cables and formed more phalanxes to supplement the 7 battered ones, and now the full force of the Huscarls and Raiders smashed into the tired but entrenched defenders.

Hiccup gently laid Minden's lifeless body down on table and looked at Snotlout. "We can grieve later, but right now I need you in the air." Snotlout slowly tore his gaze from 'his Mindo' and looked at Hiccup. A look unlike anything Hiccup had ever seen crossed the Jorgenson's face. Snotlout slowly picked up a mace, then another, and looked at Hookfang, who still mournfully sniffing Minden's body. "I'll see you up there, Hiccup." Hiccup nodded quietly. "You got it, Snotlout." Toothless rocketed into the sky.

The final push by the Dreadlacians was under way. The Vikings put their full reserves into their front line, including the Defenders of the Wing, led in person by Queen Rona. It was everything that the Vikings had against everything that Dreadlac could fit on New Berk. The Vikings began giving ground against the immense weight of a full 12 Huscarl phalanxes and hundreds upon hundreds of Raiders. The Vikings were out of options. Hiccup could almost hear Dreadlac's laughter from the fleet as he watched the Viking defenders get swamped.

Hiccup scratched Toothless' head. "Well bud, we've had a good run." He saw the Viking line below him begin to bend inward. He was about to dive into the gap when he heard a sound. Looking toward the East, he saw a small cluster of shapes diving out of the clouds. The roar of a Thunderdrum, the outline of a four-winged dragon…Gunnar was finally here.


	25. Chapter 24- Reinforcements

**Chapter 24: Reinforcements**

Gunnar and his group dove to right underneath the cloud cover. Smoke rose from the island. Hundreds of Raiders and Huscarls were swarming all over the single lot of land. To their horror they saw the Vikings desperately fighting at their final line of defense, with a shockingly low number of dragons flying around the island. Breka was the first to speak. "Where are all of the Berkian Riders?! All I see is Toothless and Eret! Well, there's Mom, but… You get my point!"

Gunnar shook his head and flipped down his mask. "I don't know, but they look like they could use our help. All right! Eret! You and Acid cut those ropes. Annika, Asfrid, you're covering him. Rod, Spitlout, Aker, Knut and Kjell, you guys are with me. We're going to be focusing fire on those blocks of soldiers below. Magnhild, Ragna, Thorolf, Eydis, you guys find your chiefs and help wherever you can! And Buttnut, Breka-" the two half-Thorstons looked at him. Gunnar pointed at the swarming Raiders below. "-destroy." The others grinned as Spitlout slammed his fist into his palm and yelled, "LET'S KICK SOME BUTT!" Hookfire burst into flame in affirmation.

With a great war cry, Vikings and Dragons dove from the clouds. The lighting assault that hit the Dreadlacians in the rear caught them completely by surprise. Eret Jr and Acid dashed along the outer edge of the islands, dousing every grappling hook in green sizzling-hot acid. Annika and Sparkles sniped the catapults shooting at Eret, while Asfrid and Eclipse filled the archers full of poison-tipped Nadder spines.

Magnhild, Ragna, Thorolf and Eydis quickly found their respective chieftains and were soon in the thick of the fighting with them, cutting down the enemy soldiers in droves. Buttnut and Breka smashed into the Dreadlacians forming up in the rear of the main center of fighting, with Burp blowing dozens of screaming Raiders off of the edge while Meatface shatter-scattered crazily through several closely packed Huscarl phalanxes and doused any survivors in molten lava. All the while their respective crazy riders cackled their heads off and yelled anything that popped into their heads.

But the biggest impact was made by Gunnar and the Riders following him. They descended upon the Dreadlacians hammering upon the Viking lines like a Screaming Death. Shock, in his element, smashed down into a phalanx and began running through the scattering enemy soldiers, inflicting massive amounts of carnage upon the terrified Raiders with his blistering hot magnesium bursts and whip-like tail.

Gunnar jumped from Shock just before landing, swinging the glistening Dragonfang and his long knife out in lightning-fast arcs, cutting down the tightly packed Huscarls with vicious slashes. Cries of "The Butcher is here!" echoed throughout the battlefield, sending terror into every Dreadlacian soldier. Gunnar began laughing at their fear, singing loudly in Irish as the rush and adrenaline of battle surged through his veins.

Rod hurled himself off of Galerider's back, drawing his twin great swords with a ferocious Hofferson war cry. Landing in the center of one Huscarl phalanx, he began swinging his weapons in great 360-degree arcs, mowing down the defenseless men like wheat before a scythe. Quickstinger herself was a whirling dervish, her lightning-fast three tails and armored claws proving an ideal combination in the close-in melee. Spitlout and the other riders crashed into the men below, dousing hundreds of them with flaming death. Watching the Jorgenson (and his enraged father) as he smashed into the enemy soldiers, Hiccup was reminded that Monstrous Nightmares had _earned_ their names for a reason.

The arrival of Gunnar and his riders sent Dreadlac's forces into instant confusion. The Vikings raised up a great cry and hurled themselves, one and all, into the fray, smashing into their terrified enemies and running them over like a stampede of Rumblehorns. Defender and Bloodhat, Hooligan and Wingmaiden, mace and sword, all fought side-by-side, pushing their petrified opponents closer and closer to the cliff edge.

Dreadlac watched the battle with disbelief. His well-trained, veteran, and ferocious fighters were being routed with victory just beyond their grasp. All because of that masked man, joyfully swinging away and shouting in Irish. The once-impenetrable phalanxes disintegrating like boulders being smashed by Catastrophic Quakens, men scattering, jumping for the ships, fighting each other in a desperate bid to escape the merciless Vikings and Dragons.

Cheering, Hiccup and Toothless pulled up, both of them eyeing the great Trebuchets. "You ready to show them _exactly_ what a Night Fury is feared for?" Toothless growled in affirmation. Sending out a great roar, he dove for the ships below, followed closely by Flashbang (sans Freya), Deathmirror, and Whiteout.

The four Furies went high-speed horizontal just a few feet above the decks of the ships, going so fast that the blowback flung men, small boats, and junk high into the air, mixing with water swells twenty feet high. Making a beeline for the closest trebuchet, all four of them charged up at once, sending their banshee scream echoing across the entire fleet like a herald of destruction. All of them blasted the first trebuchet at once, disintegrating it into a million different shards as the crew dove overboard. Pulling up in different directions but still traveling at 150 miles per hour, the four began destroying the rest of the trebuchets methodically.

Sucking in his breath from the high-G turnaround, Hiccup and Toothless were working together flawlessly just like in the old days. With Hiccup hugging his dragon's body, Toothless rolled over and dove on another trebuchet, charging up a fireball for a full ten seconds before releasing it in a blast powerful enough not only to blow the siege engine to smithereens, but the four ships it was mounted on as well.

Dreadlac was roaring in abject fury and frustration as he witnessed his perfect plan fall apart. He saw Vikings shove his screaming men off of the cliff edge and impact the ships and water below with sickening smacks. As soon as the island was clear, dragons and Vikings let loose a roar of victory and challenge to the rest of the enemy fleet, that echoed across the packed water for miles. Blasts of fire rocketed into the air, as the cheering islanders waved their weapons in the air, jeering at the sullen men below.

Dreadlac froze, fury twitching his face. He saw the masked man, the Outlaw, that Butcher, in the forefront of the jubilant Vikings, his faceless mask streaked with blood, but his sword risen high in victory. The two of them made eye contact. Dreadlac could feel the challenge and the insult radiating off of his eyes as the Outlaw stared at him in complete insolence and pleasure. Dreadlac roared at him and shook his fist. The Outlaw just threw his head up and laughed before disappearing into the crowd with a dismissive gesture. Dreadlac had never been so angry before in his life.

/

Gunnar was still laughing. The frustration that was written all over Dreadlac's face was one of the most satisfying things he had ever seen. He watched Hiccup come gliding down from the sky, grinning and waving to the mass of victorious warriors below. Gunnar also saw Flashes' empty saddle, and suddenly remembered that Freya was here. He had to go check on her. Whistling for Shock, he was up and flying toward the village within a minute.

When he arrived at the crowded hospital, he saw Toothless quietly waiting outside, watching the steady stream of sick villagers and wounded warriors arrive. Gunnar stared at the huge number of sick civilians. What had happened to _them_? Valka saw him standing just inside the doorway and waved him over. "Well, it is good to see you again, child. Alive and well. Are you looking for Freya?" He nodded.

She pointed to her personal bedroom. "She and Hiccup are in there with Astrid. They have the time to answer your questions." She bustled off toward a stuffed ward with her arms full of bandages and medicine. He walked over to the door and quietly walked in.

Astrid was laying deathly still on her back in the bed, still in the armor she was wearing that morning. She actually looked unharmed, except for a strangely pale face. Hiccup was sitting next to her bed, all of the victorious jubilation and excitement gone for him. Freya was sitting on the other side, worriedly clutching her mother's hand and twirling a strand of her hair- a nervous little habit Gunnar had noticed she had started to do recently. He walked over and gave her a little kiss on the cheek.

He studied Astrid a little more, then looked at Hiccup. "What happened?"

Hiccup sighed. "I'm not sure. Dreadlac hit us early this morning with some sort of poison gas attack right before his main assault. Astrid and Stormfly took a direct hit from a canister that was heading for Freya. She took a _huge_ dose of the stuff. Mom says she's stabilizing from the Night Fury saliva, you know, stopped coughing up blood and all of that nastiness, but she hasn't moved all day."

He frowned. "Oh, and Freya, you might want to go check on Annika and Spitlout. Minden was killed today. I don't know if they know or not, but you're gonna want to talk to them."

Her hand flew up to her mouth with a gasp. It was then that she really got a good look at Gunnar's bloody and battered armor. "What happened out there?! Was it really that bad!?" Hiccup nodded tiredly. "Yes it was. We nearly lost, if it wasn't for Gunnar's timely arrival. Cheiftess Gunhild was killed, and Chief Balder was wounded, but he seems to be doing fine. We probably lost more than half of our forces in killed and wounded. And that's an overly optimistic viewpoint. Not to mentions the scores of civilians that we lost to the gas or the bombardment."

Freya somberly looked down at her mother. "Well, at least we still have a lot to be thankful for. Let me know if she wakes up." Giving Gunnar's hand a squeeze, she was gone.


	26. Chapter 25- The Beginning of the End

**Chapter 25: The Beginning of the End **

The burial ceremonies that followed were a long and tedious process. Hundreds of Viking warriors lay dead upon the once-pristine and peaceful island, surrounded by the bodies of thousands of their enemies. Many of the warriors were hacked or trampled beyond recognition, due to the Dreadlacian's cruel habit of desecrating the bodies of their opponents as they pass.

Minden's burial was especially tough on Hiccup and his gang. They had all come to love the quiet Jorgenson matriarch, especially with their long history (they had known her since the Dragon Hunter war all that time ago). Spitlout and Annika seemed to be taking it reasonably well, but Snotlout wasn't. He hadn't said much ever since he and Hiccup's little exchange during the battle, and he wouldn't leave Minden's burial site for a good bit after everyone had left.

The Bloodhats' anointed their New Chief after the burials had taken place. Gunhild's daughter, 16-year-old Hertha, was now in charge of the battered but still numerous tribe. Although she looked very small and apprehensive during the ceremony, she bravely took on the mantle and staff of leadership and was soon issuing orders as best she could. Hiccup spent a lot of time with her, doing his best to give her as much advice as she wanted during the first few weeks.

Gunnar was sitting on the edge of a watchtower after the ceremony, overlooking the sullen Dreadlacian fleet still surrounding the island. Freya was with him, their two dragons quietly resting behind them. It was the first time they had been able to be alone together since Gunnar had gotten back.

Freya was leaning her head on his shoulder, resting her hands on her belly. He gave her shoulder a light squeeze. "I'm going to have to leave soon."

"I know."

"You know I don't want to, but it's time to start prepping for the final play. Whatever happens though… you know I'm not gonna miss it."

"You've still got more than four weeks. You should be ok if you make it quick."

"I still don't like cutting it that close. I don't want you to go through that alone. Speaking of which, we haven't talked about names in a while. What do we have?"

She perked up a little bit. "Well, we know that if it is a boy, we're naming him Finn-"

"-the legendary Irish hero-"

"-Brynjar McHartson. He'll be named after my great uncle, you ninny. Fearless Finn."

"I know, but still. I can dream, can't I? Anyways, his name will mean White Bear. That'll be cool."

She grinned. "Yeah. Now if it is a girl, we still haven't picked one for sure yet. I like Kari, but your idea, what was it?"

"Idony?"

"Yeah. I like that one too. Which one are we gonna do? I mean, it's gonna be a boy anyways, so we're technically just wasting our time, but…" She giggled as he looked at her indignantly.

"Uh, I have a gut feeling that it's going to be a girl. I like Idony Kelsi McHartson. Brave Love."

She sighed. "That does have a beautiful ring to it. But it sounds… just short of perfect."

He nodded. "Yeah. Something tells me we'll know when we see her."

"Him."

"Oh, come on."

They were quiet for a moment more, watching the sun set over the forest of furled sails in front of them. Gunnar was somber again. "I'm glad your mother is getting better. She's one strong woman."

"Yeah. She's up and walking around now. Dad's been worrying too much, as usual. It appears that whatever was in that gas really doesn't like Night Fury saliva. And the dragons got hit with Blue Oleander. There popping back up rather fast under old Gobber's care."

"That's good. What about that saboteur?"

"Oh, Eret Sr and Skullcrusher found him fast. The Twins broke him easily. It was actually quite fun to watch."

He paused with a disturbed expression. "Wow. Did they found out how he was communicating with the Dreadlacian fleet?"

"Yep. And Dreadlac doesn't know the guy is caught yet. Hiccup plans on using him to 'leak' confirmation about your bait."

"Sweet. Speaking of which, you wanna help me pack? I'm going to be leaving early tomorrow morning to set said bait."

"Sure. Just… let's stay out here for a little while longer."

He smiled tenderly as she rested her head on his shoulder. "Mm. Gladly."

/

Gunnar and his group left early the next morning, as did a large wave of Terror Mails to all of the roaming Viking fleets. The plan was simple. Have two of those fleets (namely, the Ironbeard fleet and the Goths on the Fair Shipper fleet), set up a base of operations on Dragon Island along with a sizable dragon and Viking force. Then, after a major raid with said forces attracted Dreadlac's attention, hopefully he would view the base as a perfect opportunity to knock out a sizable Viking force and the Outlaw at once. He would attack Dragon Island with most of his forces, and he would then subsequently get ambushed by everything the Vikings have. And if they were lucky, they would catch Dreadlac while they were at it.

Gunnar's main problem was presenting a big enough target to draw out most of Dreadlac's forces, but still hide enough men and dragons to have a hope of crushing him in open battle. He was rolling this around his head the entire trip to Dragon Island. He wanted to get everything going in hopefully less than a week so he could be at Berk before the baby arrived. But that was a best-case scenario.

When they arrived at Dragon Island, two of the fleets (The Berserkers and the Fair Shippers) were already there and constructing a small fort at the base of the central mountain/dragon nest. The young Berkians in his group immediately went to inspect the hole where the Red Death had issued out of all of those years ago, and the crater that it ended up in.

Gunnar found the chiefs on Holger's flagship. Chief Holger of the Berserkers, son of Heather the Unhinged, was a muscled young man with his mother's bright green eyes, raven-black hair, and ferocity in combat. He had already completely destroyed two small Dreadlacian fleets and multiple supply convoys, and his Berserker warriors well proven in combat. His uncle, Dagur the Deranged, was also present, providing the young chief his years of experience in organizing, commanding, and supplying armadas.

With them was Chief Ludovik of the Uncouth Goths and the leader of his 'ride', Chief Even of the Fair Shippers. Chief Even was a small, somewhat frail, but kind and brave young man who found violence abhorrent but didn't have any tolerance with bullies. His people followed him with complete trust and devotion, and he and his merchants had such a reputation among the tribes that the Fair Shippers were never short of business.

Chief Ludovik was quite the opposite. A mountain of a man, his blond hair and utter ferocity was matched only with his complete disregard for other's feelings. Known far and wide as the most rude and foul-mouthed chief ever to have lived in the Archipelago's waters, he was also known for his devotion to his tribe and his capabilities in combat. He volunteered his army of bloodthirsty Celts for the war only because "this guy sounds like he thinks he owns the place. And so, I'm going to put my mattock up his rear end with enough force to send him to the moon!" Not the most civilized of people, but definitely one of the most dangerous.

The four of them decided that they had the forces to go ahead and launch their main 'attention grabber' assault, since it had already been proven that the Berserker Long Ships and the Fair Shippers' fast merchantmen could easily outrun the standard Dredlacian Carrack. They would leave Dragon Island with most of their forces the next day, with instructions for the inbound Ironbeard and Outcast fleets to continue to expand upon the fortifications in the valley. The riders would get a night to rest their dragons from the long flight.

_/_

_Those desecrators. No words could describe the rage that destroyed young, happy Paddy McHartson and transformed him into the Outlaw. The Butcher. That first enemy regiment to march into the town. Looking down from the burial field onto their black flags, their laughter at the sight of the pyre, their celebration of such destruction. Their hatred. No, **his** hatred. At first... it felt cold. Like all emotion had disappeared. Then it hit. A war cry that echoed in amongst the mountains of the Fen. A cry of grief and of guilt. A cry of rage, and of _Revenge_. A cry that froze those soldiers in their tracks. That heralded the death of them and hundreds of their fellows. He still remembered that first engagement. Every move. Every stroke. Every look of fear on their faces. The panic. And the _deliciousness_ of it all. Every sharp crack of bone. Every slow, agonizing death._


	27. Chapter 26- An Untimely Arrival

**Chapter 26: An Untimely Arrival **

Freya was watering the flowers outside of her empty house for the hundredth time. Every time Gunnar went off to fight, she would not only worry, but would wish with every bone in her body that she could go and fight with him too. Like in the old days before Dreadlac had arrived. But she couldn't. Not yet. The little life inside her had to be protected.

So every time Gunnar left, she watered her flowers. Paced back and forth and did her best to ward off the feelings of uselessness and helplessness. Practiced with her ax, stared longingly at her trim and beautiful (but now undersized) armor, did some cooking. Tried to knit something, failed miserably. Tried again. Got frustrated. Practiced with her ax and the bow Gunnar had made for her to make her feel better. Only when Gunnar came home did she feel happy. But then he would leave again, for weeks at a time.

It was clear it pained him to leave, and thus it was painful for her. She wasn't _really_ worried that he would get hurt. She had seen him combat before and she knew he could take of himself, but the knowledge that every day that he spent away from her would invariably find him worried and sad pained her. She loved making him happy. Being his precious ray of sunshine and joy. She sighed and looked down at the flower, soaked and dripping. A little kick thumped in her belly.

She grinned and caressed the bulge. "You can feel when mommy is feeling a little down, can't you?" Suddenly, her stomach cramped. Just a small one, but enough to catch her attention. She looked warily at her belly. "Uh, heh heh, no, not right now. Daddy isn't here yet. You've still got a couple more weeks of cooking to do anyways." As if in response, a stronger cramp enveloped her midsection, large enough for her to gasp in pain.

She gazed down at her belly pleadingly. "Please, not right now, ok? This is _really_ bad timing. I would much rather have your father be here for that, don't you?" Nothing happened. She paused for a second, then blew a sigh of relief. Ok, she thought, another false alarm. We've still got a little bit of time. She was just beginning to walk inside when there was another kick, a gush, and her pants were completely soaked.

She froze in mid step and studied the house across from hers with mild interest. "Ohhhhhhh… Yak dung. Four weeks early? Juuuuust perfect." A strong labor pain assaulted her stomach, so powerful that she doubled over in agony. She growled. "_Awesome_. Flaaaaaash?" She slowly put her watering can down and started heading for the house.

/

Gunnar ducked underneath the wild haymaker swing and bobbed left to avoid a spear thrust. Grabbing the spear with his left hand, he had Dragonfang whirling through the air (and the soldiers) with its beautiful whistle in a flash. Twisting the spear around, he threw it with enough force to go through another sailor's shield and pin him to a mast. Charging forward with a yell, he impacted another three soldiers, dispatching each in a dizzying flurry of steel.

Shock cleared off the deck of the neighboring ship with a swipe of his tail, and then blasted another with a massive burst of magnesium fire. The assault was going very well. Leaping between the ships, he caught Shock's tail and flew onto his saddle. He passed by Holger and his cackling uncle nearby. Waving his sword with a happy smile to the pair of Berserkers, Gunnar yelled a wild war cry at them and dove at another clump of enemy ships.

After the pass, Shock pulled up for a quick tactical awareness check. Looking good. The Goths and the Berserkers were cutting up the surprised Dreadlacians decently well, but it looked like there was a sizable enemy fleet approaching. Time to make himself known and get the Vikings out of there. He dove back down to Holger's ship. "We got enemy reinforcements incoming! I think we got our job done, so it's time to pull back!"

The Berserker chief nodded and signaled to Thire, his blue Monstrous Nightmare, who sent up a powerful explosive blast into the air. Soon the fast Berserker and Fair Shipper ships were racing for Dragon Island, easily outpacing the half-hearted chase attempt. Gunnar flew above the rear-most ships of the Viking fleet, periodically destroying the foremost enemy ship both discourage the attackers and to make sure the Dreadlacians saw him and his dragon.

When they arrived back at Dragon Island, not only were the Outcasts and the Ironbeards there, but the Scarhead fleet was at anchor as well, with Chief Svalgerd of the Shivering Shores and Chief Havardr's Nest Guardian troops on the horizon. The Vikings were gathering surprisingly fast.

Gunnar landed among the victorious Berserkers and Goths as they were greeted by the cheering Outcasts, Ironbeards, and Scarheads. He grinned at the pumped-up warriors as they yelled happily at each other. Chief Ludovik slapped him on the back out of nowhere, sending the (relatively) scrawny Irishman stumbling forward.

"ha-HAAA! Now THAT is how you destroy some sheep-turd ships and their yellow-bellied occupants! I saw you clear that one battleship single handed! That was some damn fine sword work right there!"

Gunnar laughed as he recovered and punched the man on the shoulder. "Oh, I saw you do some work yourself. I've never seen someone wield a mattock that fast before in my life!"

The big man laughed and flipped his 70-pound monstrosity of a weapon in his hand like it was a twig. "Oh, what, this?! HA! It's not too hard once ya get the hang of swinging its bloody beautiful weight about!" The man started wildly swinging the dangerous weapon around single-handedly and laughing as everyone near him ducked.

The men started _really_ laughing when, to the delight of all of the onlookers, a purple Terrible Terror rocketed through the air and latched itself to Gunnar's face. The Irishman had to spend a good 5 minutes trying to get it off without removing too much skin. Once he did, he quickly took the message out of its pouch and read the contents.

His grin disappeared and he ran for Shock with a curse. He was up and flying towards New Berk before Holger or Ludovik to say anything. The Goth chieftain watched him go queerly. When he picked up and read the discarded message, his eyebrows went up and he started laughing. "Oh hohoHO! That poor blighter is in BIG trouble! Hahahaa! I would NOT want to be in his pants right now!"

Holger walked up and stared at receding dragon and rider. "Why? What'd he do?" The rowdy chieftain laughed again and pointed at the message on the ground. "Just read that. Everything will make sense in a little bit. Ha!"

Holger picked up the message on the dirty parchment was written in hasty writing the words 'Freya's in labor, and it's bad. Come quick. -Hiccup.'. It was dated as sent a good day – day-and-a-half ago. Holger's eyebrows went up. "Man-" he mumbled to himself "-I would _not_ wanna be him right now."

/

Gunnar was streaking through the stormy black sky, Shock's huge wings beating the air furiously as the two of them raced for New Berk. Gunnar's mask was down as he leaned forward in the saddle, trying to kill as much drag as possible. The Irishman's thoughts were racing.

'_Now? Really? This early? Damn it! He wanted to be there for her, and now it's probably all gonna be over by the time he gets there. AND WHAT DID HICCUP MEAN 'IT'S BAD'?! Was Hiccup over worrying as usual or was something bad actually happening?! How could Hiccup not put more details in that letter? Isn't he aware that not putting VERY SPECIFIC DETAILS in the letter is going to be essentially letting every nightmare scenario play out in Gunnar's head the entire trip back? SERIOUSLY!? Why now? Could there be any worse time for this?! Really?! NOW?!_'

The agitated young father's thoughts followed a similar pattern for the entire trip. Shock, guessing exactly what was happening due to his rider's ferocious mumbling, put everything into his flying, miraculously cutting off a good five hours off of the standard flight time to New Berk. When the two of them slammed down into the fortified town's square in the middle of the rainy night, Shock collapsed onto the ground wheezing. Gunnar leapt off and looked at his dragon worriedly. The huge Nadder, despite his heaving chest, gave his rider a look so plain it was almost as if the big dragon spoke. 'Just go, you panicking idiot. I know where the stables are.'

Gunnar gratefully gave his exhausted dragon a pat on the nose then dashed up the hill toward his house. Shock laid there for a couple more minutes, then tiredly wandered off toward his warm and dry stall. Gunnar burst through his front door, dripping wet and covered in mud. Astrid and Valka, both of whom were sitting down and relaxing at the kitchen table with steaming mugs in their hands, looked up at his red face in surprise. "Where's Freya?" he gasped out, still panting from his uphill dash in full (soaked) kit.

Astrid started softly laughing at him. Valka gently got up and grabbed a towel. "My goodness child, what happened to you?"

He started sputtering. "Wha- well, I got Hiccup's terror mail as soon as I got back from a raid maybe 8 hours ago. I came as fast as I could. Is she alright?!"

Valka calmly took off the drenched young man's cloak and hung it up over a bowl, then handed him a towel. "Oh, she's fine my dear. Did quite a good job, considering. We wrapped up maybe 5 hours ago. She's upstairs sleeping. Or was."

Astrid chuckled again. "Was Hiccup the one who sent you that terror mail?"

Gunnar nodded in embarrassment as he took off his weapons and some of his armor.

Astrid shook her head smiling to herself. "He was panicking, like he normally does. Reminded me of when Aker was born."

"So she and the baby are ok?"

Valka and Astrid looked at each other with a grin. "Yep. Everybody upstairs is A-O-K. You can go and see them now, you know. All of them are exhausted but Freya's gonna be awake after that horrendous bang you made coming in."

Valka butted in. "Oh! But before you do, take this with you and drink it. We don't want you catching cold right now." He grinned sheepishly and tried to quietly run upstairs while carrying a hot mug. The two women watched him in amusement as the normally cool and well-coordinated warrior managed to spill half the mug on himself by the time he made it to the top. A symphony of stifled curses emanated from the second floor. Valka sat down with a kind smile. "Something tells me he'll make an excellent father."

Astrid took a sip from her mug. "Yes he will. He _is_ also going to have on heck of a surprise when he gets up there, though. I hope he can handle it."

The two women laughed and resumed their conversation.


	28. Chapter 27- A Family

**Chapter 27: A Family…**

Gunnar quietly opened the door of their bedroom and peered inside. He was greeted by possibly the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Freya was propped up in the bed, gently holding a loosely-wrapped bundle and staring at it with a saintly smile on her face. She was still sweaty from the exertion of only a few hours before, with wet strands of her hair clinging to her cheek as she glanced up at the door and smiled at him.

He slowly walked in and nervously sat down next to Freya and gave her a kiss. "Hey sugar. You ok?"

She sighed and nodded slowly but happily. "I am now. You wanna meet our son?" She pulled back the blanket to reveal a wrinkled little face with a little patch of fuzz on top, snoozing away. "Finn, meet daddy. Daddy, this little bundle of sleepiness is Finn."

He leaned down and looked at the brand-new baby in fascination. A huge grin enveloped his face as he took the bundle and Finn opened his little eyes, looking at his father in mild interest. "Hey buddy. Nice to finally meet you. Wow, look at his eyes! They're just like yours!" Gunnar gently reached over and caressed the baby's cheek as Finn started mumbling happily.

Gunnar looked at his tired but radiant wife and kissed her again. "I'm so proud of you." He was just about to give her back the bundle when he noticed that Freya was trying to keep her left leg from jerking up and down under the covers. Signal. He paused and looked closely at her. She had that beautiful huge-grin lip-biting combo on her face that he loved so much. He grinned back.

"Whaaaaat are you hiding sweetheart?"

She giggled. "Nothing. I'm just watching you and our baby." She said in a very innocent tone.

"Oh. You sure that's all?"

"Yeah. I know how much you wanted a little girl, but I like that your fine with a boy. And, I would like to point out, _I_ was right."

He smiled again and looked down at his son, who was starting to fall asleep again. "Honey, he's absolutely perfect. I couldn't be happier that you won that argument."

Her leg started vibrating again. She smiled widely and took Finn back. "Weeeell, here's the thing. We were _both_ right."

He frowned in confusion. " Now, how can we both be right when there's only one ba-" a loud wail erupted from the hand-made crib on the other side of the bed. His eyebrows rocketed up and he stared at the wiggling bassinet across the bed in shock. Freya started to laugh uproariously at his face. "Oh, it never gets old, that face! You wanna go get his twin sister?"

He didn't move. It took a second longer before his brain caught up and he hopped up. "Do I!" He leapt around the bed and looked down into the crib at his perfect little wrinkly daughter, only a few hours old, squirming and weakly crying under the blankets. _That_ was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. He gently picked her up and the baby immediately stopped crying and stared up at him in complete wonder… a look that surely mirrored his own. Gunnar didn't think he could grin any wider. He sat back down and Freya (still holding Finn) snuggled up to him.

He couldn't take his eyes off of his little girl. The way she looked up at him, her little hands and feet, the way her eyes reflected his own. He was almost laughing in pure joy as he tried to talk to her. "Hi Idony." She stared up at him intently and reached up with her little fist. "How are you?" She started warbling and kicking in reply.

Freya tore her eyes from Finn and looked up at Gunner happily. "It looks like I know who's going to be daddy's little girl now. Look at the way she responded to you! She does look a lot like you, you know. Chin, nose, and _definitely_ your eyes. But she's got my hair." She narrowed her eyes at her husband and a tender smile lit her face. "Wait, honey, are you crying?"

He sniffled as he stared down at the bundle in his arms. "No. Absolutely not."

"Not even a little bit?" she said teasingly. "Cause I know you just got rained on but… that water right below your eyes look suspiciously like tears…"

He was quiet for a little bit longer as he gazed at the baby in his arms. "Fine, I _might_ have run into some onions before now and their effect is just kicking in. Maybe."

Freya smiled. "Aww, you big baby. You're so sweet. I love you." She gave him a peck on the cheek and snuggled in closer to him.

"I love you more. And Freya?"

"hmm?"

He looked at her with eyes filled with remorse. "I am _so sorry_ for missing the birth. I can't even begin to imagine how hard it was for you to…"

She put her finger to his lips. "Shh. It's all over now. And it's ok. I knew that you wouldn't have intentionally missed it, and I know how hard you were pushing yourself to get here in time. It just didn't work out. And besides, I had mom with me. She helped a lot." She smiled and gave him a kiss. "And now that you're here, and both of my babies are happy and healthy, it was all worth it."

As she turned her attention back down to the fascinating bundle in her arms, he gratefully kissed her forehead and did the same. "I'm the luckiest man in the whole world." he whispered. She smiled. "And I'm the luckiest woman."

/

After Valka had finally left, Astrid decided to check on her daughter one more time before she went back home herself and got some much-needed shut-eye. Hiccup hadn't lied- it had been a tough birth. Freya was really struggling, especially without Gunnar there to encourage her. And when Idony came out and it became clear that Freya was only half done, the look on her daughter's face had really wrenched at Astrid's heart. And even though the young mother had seemed ok afterwards, especially when Finn was placed in her arms, the maternal heart in Astrid drove her to go check, just one more time.

When she quietly opened the bedroom door, she saw something that she would remember for the rest of her life. Her son-in-law was fast asleep, sitting up in the bed, his little daughter tucked safely in his arms. Both were wearing similar peaceful expressions in their sleep. Freya was sleeping with her head on his chest, cradling her son. Both of _them_ were emitting tiny snores and drooling ever so slightly. Gunnar's other arm hung limp around Freya's shoulders, with one of his legs hanging off of the side of the bed. It was one of the cutest things Astrid had ever seen.

Astrid stared at the happy little family for a while, trying to imprint every little detail into her memory. She smiled to herself. Freya was just fine. She was glad her daughter had found in Gunnar what she had found in Hiccup all of those years ago. She gently covered Gunnar up with an extra blanket and left.

/

Gunnar's sleep wasn't as peaceful as it looked. He was having that Nightmare again. Now his subconscious thoughts were racing. _He's not the Butcher. Not anymore. Not with what he has now. So… Why? Why this dream _again_? He's happy now, he's moved on. **They**'ve been avenged. He's done with them. Is this a… haunting? No. A warning? A warning. A warning of what? Of… losing again. Losing happiness again. Of failing again. Being out-maneuvered, marching out to fight against the enemy when he should be next to her side. He couldn't survive another blow like that. He can't lose his family again. He _won't_ lose this happiness again. Not an option. But he can't let others fight. Not for him. He must fight for _them_. They can't fight by themselves. But… leave her behind? Look what happened last time he did that…_

_Is there even a solution? A solution where he can win, defeat the enemy and still live happily? Where his family can still live happily? Where he can do what he needs to do without putting his family at risk, without abandoning them like last time? Without losing **them** like last time? There has to be. Somewhere. Nothing is impossible. Somewhere… Anywhere… Somehow… What about- No. Yes. Would it work? _Will_ it work? It has too. It will. _There_ is your solution. _There_ is your peace. _

Gunnar never had the Nightmare again.

/

In the morning, Hiccup and old Gobber stopped by to see the newborns. Hiccup had caught a quick glimpse the night before, but this was the first time Gobber had seen his 'great-great nephews'. Freya came downstairs to present her children to her extremely proud great uncle and even prouder father. Later, after Gobber left to attend the forge and the children were fed and put to bed, Gunnar and Hiccup had a chance to take a walk through the soaked village.

They walked along silently, studying both the damage caused by war but also the decorations the hardy Viking people were putting up to celebrate the anniversary of the defeat of Drago. The two of them paused to study a particularly interesting picture. A group of children, two of whom were fresh orphans from the most recent assault, were determinedly placing decorative wreaths around manned and loaded ballistae towers, as the crew on top watched and helped.

Gunnar took a second to take it in. "It really shows the sturdiness of the Viking people."

Hiccup nodded solemnly. "Yes. It's a sad picture, but it also gives hope for the future. I just wish this war would end already. We've already lost enough people to cover at least five normal Viking wars."

They stood there a little more. Hiccup sighed. "Let's talk about something more cheerful. Have you and Freya decided what you're naming the kids?"

"Well, we know for sure that we're naming the boy Finn Brynjar McHartson, and we're settling for Idony Kelsi McHartson for the girl. For now, at least."

Hiccup looked at him questioningly. "Settling for?"

Gunnar shrugged. "Yeah. We like the name, but something about it doesn't seem right. And I've been gone for so long that we haven't been able to find the right name yet."

Hiccup nodded. "As long as you find the right name before the christening ceremony, you'll be fine."

"How long until the ceremony?"

"Well, by law it should be within the one-to-two days after the birth, but uh… You've probably got a little more time until then. It's a big deal really. Since Aker hasn't married yet, and if he doesn't, Finn is going to be next in line for the chiefhood."

Gunnar frowned. "But wouldn't that be taking the line from the Haddock name?"

Hiccup nodded. "Technically, yes. It'll still be Haddocks in charge, but under your family name. However, Aker is still young, so we shouldn't be worried about that right now. We have bigger problems. Like why is that guy in such a hurry?" He pointed to a Viking sentry dashing up the hill toward them.

When the Berkian got there, he took a moment to catch his breath. "Oh! Sirs! Thank goodness I found ye! Her's a message from your Irish spy." He handed Chief Hiccup a scroll. Hiccup read it then looked up at Gunnar's questioning face.

"Well my friend, it looks like you'll have longer before the ceremony."

Gunnar's eyebrows furrowed. "Why's that?"

Hiccup sighed and put the scroll away. "According to your Irish friend, Dreadlac has decided to take your bait. The fleet below has orders to leave for Dragon Island in two days."


	29. Chapter 28- To be Protected

**Chapter 28: …To be Protected **

Gunnar stood there for a second. "Yeah. Ok. I _was _sorta expecting any day now anyways. His men _have_ to be starving by this time. It's just… bad timing." He cursed loudly at the ground around his feet.

He paused, then stared hard at the black surrounding fleet. The strategical gears in his head were turning. He started to talk quietly, almost to himself. "I've got probably seven to eight tribes gathered at Dragon Island fortifying it as we speak. If I can lure him there, and play it right, when he comes… that fight will be the last one. For good or for bad."

Hiccup turned and nodded at the ever-present fleet. "How many men do you think he has down there? We put a dent in his forces, I'm sure."

Gunnar clicked his tongue without removing his eyes from his opponent. "Hard to say. He's got about maybe, ohh, say about a good thousand operational warships left, after all the damage we've done. For number of men? Easily around 80,000-100,000 left. The key question is the number of _effectives_. With battle damage, desertions, disease, etc, he's only got around 50,000-75,000 effectives capable of taking to the field."

Hiccup groaned. "By my calculations, even if we transferred all of our warriors here to Dragon Island, we'd still be outnumbered by roughly 8:1. How are we gonna overcome those odds?"

Gunnar stood silent for a moment, contemplating the question. "Simple. Grow our numbers, shrink theirs. The majority of their numbers are brainwashed conscripts. Bad fighters. Primarily meat bumps to tire out enemy armies. So, when you factor them out and the number of sailors and other support personnel in his fleet that won't be on the field, you're left with roughly only 15,000 actual _soldiers_ we gotta deal with. And less than a third of _those_ are Huscarls."

Hiccup nodded with furrowed eyebrows. "…Makes sense. But they still easily outnumber us, and those 'meat bump' troops shouldn't be removed from the equation. How do we grow ours?"

"That one's… a little more complicated. One, we do have dragons on our side, both trained and wild. That has _got _to be a big force multiplier if I've ever heard of one. Two, if my plan works and Trader Sigmund gets them up here in time, we'll have maybe a good 5000-7000 Irish warriors to back us up. Three, even though we still are going to be outnumbered, _how_ we apply our troops will greatly affect their, well, effectiveness. It really all comes down to how exactly I play the final fight."

Hiccup nodded. "So I guess that gives us two days before he leaves then maybe another ten days of travel time before he actually shows up to dragon island."

Gunnar nodded. "We have roughly two weeks, since his ships are so slow. Let's go. I gotta talk to Freya and you probably have to figure out who's staying and who's going."

/

"Um, yes I'm going with you, and there's no point in arguing."

Gunnar looked at his fiercely determined wife and his shoulders slumped. He wanted her to stay behind with the newborns. But she was sick and tired of being left behind while he disappeared to go fight. "Listen, we're going to be doing a lot of work and planning leading up to the battle and everyone is going to be exhausted. You just went through labor for crying out loud! You're not in any condition to be fighting."

"You think I give an ounce of yak crap? I'm half Haddock, half Hofferson, and 100% a Viking and your wife! For better or for worse! The only reason I've let you fight by yourself so far is because I wasn't going to pull the babies into danger with me. But now that Valka can watch them, I'm coming, and I'm making up for all of the fighting and helping you that I've missed. And that's final. I love you, and I'm not letting you face that army alone. Not anymore. Anyways, the only way you're going to keep me here with the _sheep_ is if you knock me out and tie me up with dragon-proof chains."

He looked at her grimly. "Ok. I get it, but I want you to listen carefully. Go ahead and sit down. I'm not going to argue with you. I'm going to be explaining _exactly_ why I don't want you in that fight. You remember when I told you the reason I started hunting Dreadlac?"

Freya sat down with a plunk. "Yes, I know. They destroyed your home and killed your parents."

He frowned grimly. "More than that. I was married at the time, to a girl named-" he winced visibly at the mention of the name "-Erin Hagan. She was the epitome of her name- Youthful Peace." His voice dropped in volume, but not in intensity. "We had just had a child, a little black-haired girl named Katrina. Katrina Fay MacMillan. Pure Raven. I had to leave to fight Dreadlac barely a _week_ after the birth. When I got back, they were both _dead_, burnt to ashes in the town square with our neighbors, due to a sneak attack that got around our flank. And I wasn't there to save them. We were only 16. "

He stared at her shocked face with an incredibly fierce passion. "I cannot, _CANNOT_, go through that again. Freya, the reason I fell in love with you was because you brought _joy_ back onto my life. You showed me that peace and happiness could be found after a life of violence and loss. That simple. I'm not about to risk losing you like that. Do you understand? And for that reason, if you really want to help me focus, I need you to _stay here_. Out of the danger, so I don't have to be worrying about and I can focus on my job."

She sat there for a second, just looking at his earnest face. Trying to imagine what she would've felt like if that had happened to her. The sound of a baby crying from upstairs interrupted her train of thought. "I'll get that." She hurried upstairs. Beautiful little Idony was the one crying. She picked up the baby and started rocking her, all the while her thoughts racing.

She could now see the reason for some of Gunnar's actions in the past. Things made a little more sense. But she still couldn't understand why he wanted her to stay behind, when that was what happened to him before. She guessed that he thought that _this_ time they'd be safe. But he wasn't thinking this whole thing through. He wasn't looking at it from her perspective.

She walked back downstairs, still gently jiggling a whimpering Idony in her arms. Gunnar looked up at her apologetically. "Listen, I'm sorry Freya. I probably shouldn't have brought that up. It's just that-" She sat down and help her free hand up. "Gunnar, you do have a point. And I see where you're coming from. You _probably_ should've mentioned that a little before now, but that's beside the fact." Gunnar held his arms out for his fretting daughter and Freya handed her to him. Idony quieted down almost immediately.

Freya looked at him as he stared down at the bundle in his arms. "Listen sweetie, I know where you're coming from. You're just trying to do your best to protect us. But listen: it's_ our_ job to protect _them_, not just _your_ job to protect _us_. I want to support you and help you, but I can't do that from here. You know we fight best when we're working together, right? Remember that Deathgripper ambush the first mapping trip we went on?"

He nodded in agreement, without removing his eyes from his infant daughter.

"Neither of us would be alive now if the other wasn't there to cover our 6. So, it stands to reason that we _both_ have the best chance of us coming back to raise our beautiful children if we _both_ go, right? I'm not about to let you go fight the most important battle of our lives without you being at 100%. And you're not at 100% without me. As I'm not without you."

He looked up at her pleadingly. "But what if something happens to you out there? How am I going to raise them by myself? They need a mother more than they need a father! And what happens if something happens to _both_ of us?"

She looked at him with an interesting expression. "That's the risk of war. You of all people should know that. How am I going to raise them without a father if you don't come back? They're going to need a father just as much as they're going to need me. That's _exactly_ my point. We both have the highest chance of coming back of we go _together_."

He glanced down at the little girl, now yawning so hard it was a wonder her little head didn't split open from the strain. He chuckled at the sight and stroked her cheek as she fell asleep. "I see your point. All or nothing, eh?" He paused, lost in thought and studying every little detail in his daughter's face. "Well… I guess I can both protect you directly and fight this guy if you _do_ come with me."

He looked up at his wife with a twinkle in his eye. "I think we got a fighting chance." She grinned. "Oh, we always did."

/

It was decided. Valka would stay behind to watch her great-grandchildren, along with the Defenders, the Ingmen, the Despicables, the Muttonheads, and the Bloodhats to defend New Berk while everyone else was away. Queen Rona of the Defenders was put in charge due to the absence of essentially all of the Berkian leadership. All available Berkian Dragon Riders and Wingmaidens would help fly the Skodian and Berkian warriors to Dragon Island for the final showdown.

At dawn two days later the besieging fleet had shrunk by drastic proportions. But so had the defenders. All of the best warriors had left, leaving the sick, wounded, and exhausted of both sides staring at each other, knowing that the news of the upcoming battle would decide the outcome of this long and bloody siege, as well as the war.


	30. Chapter 29- Setting the Board

**Chapter 29: Setting the Board**

When the forces from Berk finally arrived at Dragon Island, the full might of the archipelago was officially gathered. Warriors from across seventeen tribes where present. Gunnar immediately flew off upon landing. While the newcomers were setting up camp and stretching their legs from the long flight, the Irishman was tirelessly organizing the warriors and checking the progress of all of the traps and fortifications in the gravel valley below.

He found that his instructions from earlier had been followed to the letter- with some stuff added. The great gravel valley had been cleared of obstructions, cleaned of any boulders and brush that might serve to conceal or cover enemy soldiers. At the back of the valley stood the Viking fort that was to serve as the cheese in the great mouse trap.

It was cunningly made of stone found in the valley, constructed in such a way as to eliminate the need for mortar. A coating of Deathsong amber had been applied to the inner surface of the walls, strengthening them against the artillery attacks that were sure to come. At each corner were solid towers, upon which was placed catapults taken from ships too damaged for the upcoming battle. The shields from said ships where also mounted along the walls to give the archers on top added protection.

Surrounding the fort, a slight trench had been dug, the fresh earth piled on the outside edge to create a berm. About 50 yards downhill from the trench was placed (and concealed) deep pits lined with sharpened stakes, along with numerous tripwires and other traps to slow and disrupt the enemies' advance. The whole point of the fort and its defenses was to be a tough nut to crack- and it definitely was going to fulfill its role.

Up on the tops of the shallow ridges on either side of the valley, great, camouflaged trenches and pits had been dug just on the opposite side of the apex- with space to hide hundreds of Viking warriors and catapults. Tunnels were dug into the central mountains in order to regain access to the old dragon nest, and thousands of wild dragons were moved in, as well as all of Berk's dragon riders.

On the back side of Dragon Island, where the surrounding rocks were the most dangerous, was hidden the combined Viking fleets. Gronckles were placed on the lead ships of each squadron, in order to help guide the fleets out of the rock fields when the time was right. When Gunnar was satisfied that all was in place or was proceeding as scheduled, he went to find his chief.

/

Gunnar found the aging Hooligan chieftain and his majestic Night Fury on a tall sea stack overlooking the island. Dismounting from Shock, he paused for a bit to admire the view before breaking the silence. "Everything is set chief. Now we wait."

Hiccup nodded absent-mindedly, looking down at the field before him with interest. "You know something Gunnar?"

The Irishman set his helmet down and shook his head. "What?"

"As one gets older, the deeper meanings of life become clearer, and one begins to wonder about the poetic pattern of life. I know that you probably have no idea what I'm talking about- but hear me out."

He pointed his hand toward the gaping hole in the side of the mountain below them. "That's the hole that the great Red Death came out of during the first Battle of Dragon Island." He pointed to a wide, shallow crater in the side of the great beach. "And that is where it met its end."

He paused for a second, then he began speaking in such a way that it almost seemed as if he was talking to someone else. "It was here that my life and the lives of my people took a drastic change. It was here that I lost my leg, that the great war between dragons and Vikings came to an end, and that my dad and my people decided to live in harmony with their former enemies."

Hiccup looked down and saw his wife of 20+ years and his adult children working in among the field, coordinating the construction of some of the last fortifications. "It was here that my life _really _began. A whole new chapter of our story opened here. A whole new world."

He paused and turned to his young son-in-law. "And here, it might all end. A full circle. This epic chapter in the story of Berk and the Haddock chieftainhood might just end where it began."

Gunnar looked at the solemn chief. "Well sir, I may not have that wisdom that only time can grant- but let me remind you of one thing. Yes, a chapter might end here, but when one chapter ends, the possibilities for the next are open. We're all here to guarantee the ending of this chapter won't be the end of the book. Including yours, chief." The young warrior grinned. "You have grandbabies to spoil."

Hiccup grinned back. "Ah, the confidence of youth. I remember that feeling. Yes, you're right. I do have grandchildren to watch grow, don't I? What do you think bud? You have the energy for one last romp?"

The huge Night Fury gave a roar that echoed throughout the entire valley below them, causing a sea of human and dragon eyes to fly upward at the sight of the majestic jet-black dragon king.

"I'll take that as a yes."

/

The work was finished. An ominous but beautiful blood-red sunset was glowing over the prepared battlefield and its quiet occupants. Freya had lost track of Gunnar during the hustle and bustle of final preparations, and she was now asking around to see if anyone had seen where he had disappeared to. A Berserker warrior pointed her up toward the mountain.

She found him on the top of the outpost watchtower with Shock, both in full armor, quietly waiting for the coming storm. When she flew up, she could see her husband talking to his life-long friend and absent-mindedly fiddling with his beloved sword. Gunnar seemed nervous. Worried. Which was very… unusual. Every time she and him were about to go into a fight he was always decisive and almost delighted they were about to go into harm's way. But now…

She landed behind him and jumped off Flash. He turned his head to see who made the noise, and his face relaxed when he saw who it was. She walked up next to him and laid her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his waist. He visibly relaxed at her touch.

They stood there for a second before Gunnar looked down at Freya's head next to him. "Thanks baby. I needed that."

A hint of a smile appeared on her face. "I know. You looked worried when I came up here. Maybe even a little… scared?"

He sighed and looked back out over the wide expanse of red and blue that was the sunset over the waves. He put his arm over her shoulders.

"Well… I think I… _am_ scared. Scared of what's going to happen tomorrow. And I don't know why. I've faced worse odds than this before, but I've never felt like this before a fight. It's strange."

She looked up at the veteran warrior, nervously surveying the field below him. "You know, its ok to be scared. You can't be brave without being afraid."

He nodded. "I know that. And in that case, I'm _very_ brave." She snickered. "But it's just… this feeling is different. Maybe because tomorrow everyone is going to be putting their lives and livelihood in my hands, and if I screw up, if the plan doesn't work, everything will be ruined. Yeah, that's probably it."

She shook her head. "That's not it."

He looked down at his young wife in surprise. "It's not?"

She watched a group of seagulls flying toward old Berk as she answered. "No. I know why you're scared. It's because every time you've lept head-first into a fight, you've had nothing to lose. That's one of the reasons you're so effective. Because you can afford to take risks. And really, you used to welcome death if it came. You saw it as a relief from the pain of losing your old family. You went into fights with a win-win attitude. But now…"

He looked back up. "…I have a _lot_ to lose."

She nodded. "Exactly. You're playing the same game you've been playing for years now, just this time, you're actually putting something down on the table. Now, you _have_ to win. Don't think of it that way. Approach it like you normally do. Don't let your worry distract you from doing what you do best. Just do it. Fight… and win."

He grinned and shook his head in amazement. "Freya?" "Yes?" "You are wise beyond your years."

She laughed. "Yeah, grandma always said that I got a little bit of her head, but I didn't believe it."

"Hmm. I hope you do now. It's actually quite apparent."

They stood there for a little while longer. Freya sighed. "I miss the babies."

Gunnar nodded in agreement. The urge to see his daughter's wrinkled little face and make sure she was ok suddenly hit him. "I just want to be _home_ right now. Not messing with all of…" he gestured to the soon-to-be battlefield below him. "…this. And possibly dying. And not getting to see them again. And trying to figure out what their life is going to be like if we-"

Freya jerked her head up from his shoulder and firmly smacked him. "Stop thinking about that. We're going to make it. I'm having a hard-enough time not thinking about that myself. You think _you_ miss the kids and are worrying your heart out? I'm their _mother_. I miss them so much there is a gaping hole in my heart, and I'd give _anything_ to be with them right now." A single tear slid down her resolute cheek. "You men are made to do this- leave home and family behind to fight. Us women are not. I mean, we definitely can, it's just… more painful for us."

Gunnar stared at the tents below him. "And yet you're here. If I recall, I _did_ offer for you to stay at home. Well, 'offer' is too strong a word."

Freya looked at him determinedly. "And I'm here because our babies need a father, and because you need me if you're going to be successful. If you're going to be able to focus on the task ahead of you. Contrary to what you thought."

Her eyes softened. "But I'm mainly here because I love you, Gunnar McHartson. I love you more than anything else on this earth, and I don't want to see you fight this battle alone. When all of this ends tomorrow, I want to be by your side when you face down your enemy. And there is nowhere else I'd rather be."

He looked down at her, with the red sunlight of a dying sun glinting off of her trim armor and her long strands of glistening brown hair blowing in her face as she looked up at him resolutely. He put his hand on her cheek and wiped away the tear stain below her eye. "Thank you." He whispered. "Thank you so much baby. I don't think I could love you anymore than I do now."

She snickered a little bit. "You already said that before. Multiple times, in fact."

His eyebrow went up. "Oh really?"

Before she could answer he leaned down and gently place his lips on hers. She melted into his tender and passionate kiss, slowly returning it. When they parted, still leaning their foreheads together, he stared earnestly into her eyes and whispered something so quiet Freya almost missed it.

"You're my crown jewel Freya. I love you so much I will defend you with my life. I know I can't promise much, but I can promise this: you will survive tomorrow. No matter what, I'll make sure you can see our children again."

"We both will, Gunnar. We both will."

They turned their heads in time to watch the last sliver of the sun disappear behind the ocean.

Gunnar sighed. "Let's get some sleep. We're going to need it. And Freya?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for coming."

She smiled and kissed him again. "You're welcome sweetie. Like I said, there's nowhere else I'd rather be."

/

The whole of the Viking camp was up early the next morning. Everyone was offered a large and healthy breakfast (most couldn't eat), and everyone began whatever religious rites their tribe had for pre-battle prep. The warriors and fleets were all in their position by roughly 0800 in the morning. All that was left to do was to wait.

Gunnar had had the Scaldrons begin generating the fog before he went to sleep the night before. In the morning, the entire island was shrouded in a thick, soupy cloud, similar to what was originally hiding the island in the days of the dragon-Viking war. But now the two former enemies were sitting side-by-side, quietly staring into the impenetrable fog, waiting for the great enemy fleet to arrive.

A cry came from the white void. Small shapes came winging through the cloud- the scouts had returned with news.

Dreadlac had arrived.


	31. Chapter 30- The Trap Shuts (Pt 1)

**Chapter 30: The Trap Shuts**

The approach to the Viking hideout was treacherous, to say the least. Contrary to what his spies had reported, this 'Dragon Island' was completely concealed in fog, which made locating the landing beach and the enemy fort extremely time consuming. The vanguard of his fleet had reported that the enemy sentinels had fled into the cloud upon sighting, so Dreadlac was quite surprised to find the approach uncontested.

Hackett stepped up next to him. "sir, the reconnaissance division have reported locating the landing site. They request permission to land and scout for enemy activity."

Dreadlac paused for a moment before giving the order. "Land the entirety of the second and fourth divisions, as well as the reserve artillery."

"But sir, if we don't scout out the landing zone, we won't be able to locate any ambushes they have waiting for us."

Dreadlac chuckled humorlessly. "Hackett, the Butcher is on the other side of that fog bank. I know him. I _guarantee_ you that he has an ambush planned. Without a doubt. If we scout them out, they will spook and run like frightened mice, and our prey will have escaped again."

"So, we're going to walk into the mouse's trap. But instead of a cat, they will find a bear. Anyways, we know full well that although the enemy fleet had gained reinforcements, there were only 100 ships that attacked the 12th fleet. What can they do against 1000?"

/

The combined Viking chieftains stood on the peak of the central mountain, gazing down through the fog as Dreadlac's ships slowly regurgitated thousands of men onto the beach, their hundreds of hideous banners creating beautiful swirls in the thinning clouds. Gunnar just watched with a grim face, not uttering a word.

Chief Holger of the Berserkers stared down at the sight before bursting out in indignation- "Why aren't we attacking them? Look at all of those soldiers! In complete disarray, backed up against the ocean, still trying to find their land legs, they're _completely_ vulnerable. We could easily push them into the sea and destroy their exposed artillery before it becomes operational, as well an any ships within reach."

Gunnar waited for a bit before answering. "Aye, if we attack now, we could drive them into the ocean easily. But we wouldn't be touching the other 50,000 men he has on the rest of his ships. He'd crush us after. You have to remember that we're only gonna get one shot at this, so we gotta make this count. And going after a tenth of his men isn't going to be good enough, especially considering everyone on the beach right now are his _real_ soldiers' meat shields."

The Irishman started talking quietly to himself, as if he was casually thinking out loud at a picnic. "He's expecting a trap… but it looks as if he's trying to make his paw too big for the snap, instead of sniffing it out and going around. He wants us to reveal our position by triggering our ambush on his cheap troops, then he thinks I'm gonna let him hit the ambushers with his elites. Coward. Using his own men as bait. But in this case, that's good… he definitely doesn't know that everyone is here, or that my real target is him. Perfect."

A bit of a grin lit on his face as the first blocks of men far, far below them began marching toward the great gravel valley. "He thinks we're just a bunch of squabbling tribes with no real strength, and that we lack the mental capacity to set aside our differences and fight him as one. And while that is true for quite a few of you-" Gobber took his hook out of his ear and yelled something indignantly. "- it isn't true enough. Come on! Let's get the first stage ready."

Mounting up, the band of chieftains were soon winging their way down toward the battle lines below them. They landed in the courtyard of the 'bait' fort, and gathered around a table with a complete, large-scale map of dragon island and the surrounding waters. Gunnar grabbed one of his arrows and used it as a pointer.

"Alright, you all have already heard the full plan, but I'm going to go over the gist of it just to refresh your memories. Chief Svern, you and your Ironbeards are going to be our anvil. You guy's job is to hold your ground for as long as you can, and to put up as big of a fight as you can. Tie them down, distract them, make them think that _you_ are our main force."

The heavily armored chieftain nodded. "You can count on the Ironbeards to hold strong."

"I know I can. Chief Holger, Skarsgard, and Alvina, you guys are to launch your naval assault upon my _second_ signal. The rest of you, your men are already positioned and know when to strike. Chief Hiccup will coordinate the dragon's strike with yours. Your combined forces will be our hammer. If there aren't any questions, get to your commands. Once you are there all that is left to do before the battle starts is to wait for the enemies' first wave to hit the fort. Until then, hang tight and keep your patience. But strike hard when the time comes! The first 10 minutes will probably decide the battle. Good luck and may the favor of the gods be with us today."

Most of the chieftains filed out of the fort and headed out toward their hidden troops. Gunnar and Hiccup stayed behind as well as Chief Svern of the Ironbeards. Gunnar was staring down at the map in front of him, reflecting at the craftsmanship of the little carved Vikings and ships that were used to plan out the Viking's deployment.

Astrid crossed her arms. The seasoned Viking shieldmaiden looked the young Irishman direct in the eyes. "Well Gunnar, I want your honest opinion. Do you think we can pull this off?"

The question brought Freya's thoughts back to her and her husband's conversation the night before. Neither of them could sleep, so they had lain there talking for what seemed like hours. Freya had asked him a question at some point. It was actually the exact same question her mother had just asked, with a little more added. But what Gunnar explained to her that night as they lay cuddled up underneath the great bearskin blanket stuck with her for the rest of her life.

He had been in an unusually solemn and reflective mood that night, and when she had asked him whether he honestly thought they could survive the battle to come his answer was more in depth than she had ever anticipated. He had actually never opened himself up to her so deeply before. On one hand she was really happy that he loved her enough to make himself so vulnerable to her, but on the other hand, what he said would have her thinking for many, many nights to come. (assuming they survived this mess)

_"Freya, the answer to that is a little hard to explain and has a lot to do with my history. I normally wouldn't be so open, but… what do I've got to lose? So back when… when my family was slaughtered, and I lost my little daughter and my wife, something inside of me snapped. I lost not only what innocence I had, but also any hope I had for a peaceful life. As a result, I became a cold-blooded killer. I would kill, and sometimes play with, any Dreadlacian I saw in the most painful and violent way possible."_

_"Play with them?" she whispered, running her fingers comfortingly through his hair. She was curious of where he was going, but she was also scared that if she interrupted and led him into a topic he didn't want to talk about, he would shut back up like a clam. _

_He sighed. "I would sneak onto an enemy encampment at night, kill all of the sentinels, leave gore trails and dragon foot-prints all over the place, and leave 'calling cards' stabbed into the central pillar of the men's barracks. It would terrorize them. Sometimes, I would slit the throats of only half of the camp and leave notes in the other half's barracks or tents, telling them that I was coming for them soon."_

_"And occasionally I would ambush a convoy and let some of the men escape. The survivors would return to the enemy's main camp and spread the horror stories of what my mask looked like and what I did to their fellows." He looked ashamedly down as he continued, as if he was scared that she would judge him for what he was admitting too. He then looked up at her wide eyes and plowed ahead. _

_"Freya, I enjoyed doing things like that. I'm ashamed of that now, but back then, I was proud that I made and army of a million men piss their pants at my glance. But, after roughly two years of that, I started dying inside. Whatever mental stability I had after the Raid started to slip away as it became apparent that the only thing left of my life was killing. I had nothing else to do. I started to get tired of it, but only when I was alone with my thoughts. It was a black hole I was falling into, with seemingly the only way out being death." _

_He clutched her hand and continued, encouraged by her solemn face and fingers still running through his hair. _

_"Freya, that day on the cliffside… when you and your father rescued me from those soldiers… I wanted to die. I thought I was going to, to be honest. I thought I was going to be able to end this endless cycle of pain and misery by something other than suicide, and I was damn happy about that. I had fought to my last breath like a true warrior, and I was welcoming death in open arms when you picked me up. _

_I woke up… different. I didn't know what it was, at first. You may have noticed that many times, whenever I was alone, I'd just be thinking, trying to understand what had changed. Eventually I figured it out. What had been driving my 'monster half' before- a lust for revenge, a deep sense of grief and guilt, all of that… was gone. I had forgiven myself, and the hold those feelings had on me were gone. I still had the scars, but I could now start healing them instead constantly ripping them open every time I saw the enemy."_

_"Freya, my love, you helped with that. More than I could possibly describe. You were (and still are) just an incredibly joyful human being, relishing life, and you took it upon yourself to make me happy. I still- to this day- don't understand what you saw in me that made you decided to do that, but you did. You healed me, Freya. You helped me realize that everyone can get a second chance at life, even the most destructive ones that definitely don't deserve it. The ones who only know how to take a life, instead of enjoy or create one."_

_His voice started to catch as he continued to earnestly clutch her hand and stare deeply into her entranced eyes._

_"And you're still making me happy. You are my second chance at a normal life. You've given me so much. Love, joy, happiness, a home-" his voice broke as a tear rolled down his cheek, mirroring her own. "-a… a family. Everything that I… that I lost. You've given me that second chance. Freya, I love you so much, I can't describe it. You have no idea what you did for me, what type of black pit of despair you pulled me out of, just by you being… you."_

_He looked determinately at her face as her eyes started to water._

_"Freya, it's because of you that I'm fighting this war. This battle tomorrow. I'm not going to bungle and drop this… my family. Not this time. I am going to give my all on the field tomorrow, all for you. I'm going to fight harder than I have ever before in my life, because my driving force is no longer anger and guilt… but something so much stronger. Do you know what that is?"_

_She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. "It's love. Love, Freya Haddock. We all aren't fighting out of anger toward our foe, but for love of what we are defending. That is what will guarantee our victory tomorrow. No doubt about it. So when you ask why I think we will win tomorrow, given all of the odds against us, my answer is that we have an advantage. An advantage that nothing else can match in terms of importance. Motivation. _

_"When it inevitably comes down to it: man versus man in the chaos of the battlefield, the man fighting for his family and home will fight so much harder, you can't compare the two. He will not give up. He will fight with every shred of his being to defend his home. And that's what I plan on doing, and that's what I'm counting on from my men tomorrow. -You remember that argument we had after the twins were born? It turns out you were right."_

_"As long as the love of my life is standing by my side, there is nobody I can't defeat." _

That confession of his… she was going to remember and treasure that for the rest of her life. And as she watched him survey the map in front of him in supreme confidence before raising his eyes to meet her own, she could see that he was thinking of the same night that she was.

When he looked at Astrid, all traces of the fear and trepidation that haunted him the night before were gone- in its place was pure confidence and eagerness.

"Do I think we can pull this off? Heh. Oh yeah, I think we can not only pull this off, but we can end this war here and now."

Astrid grinned at the look at in Gunnar's eyes. She had worn that same expression many _many_ times before- that of a warrior supremely confident in his/her abilities. "Good. A general confident in his men and in himself make his men confident in him. Thor knows we're going to need as much of that as possible."

Gunnar nodded solemnly. "I couldn't agree more." A wild cry came from outside. "There they are! To your positions!"

The group looked out toward the sound. Gunnar grinned and grabbed his helmet. "Showtime."


	32. Chapter 30- The Trap Shuts (Pt 2)

**Chapter 30- The Trap Shuts Pt 2**

A tense silence held the ranks of Vikings hidden in the trenches above the enemy army. All over the crest Outlaws, Goths, Wingmaidens, and Scarheads alike nervously peered through the concealing undergrowth as the black masses below them grew. The only Vikings in the valley itself, the Ironbeards, stood behind their great iron Tower Shields and waited. Neither side in the valley could see each other yet due to the thick fog blanketing the stony battlefield. Dreadlac's forces began slowly advancing toward the ghostly shadow of the Viking fort, the only sound on the island being the steady tramp of the Huscarl's boots and the jingle of the Raider's equipment.

The last of the fog dissipated, clearing the ground below but still leaving a thick layer of clouds to shroud the sun. The wall of Dreadlacians stopped within shouting distance of the stone-cold Vikings in the valley. Gunnar, standing behind the silent Viking warriors, watched the enemy raiders begin slowly stomping their boots into the gravel of the valley floor. The foreboding tread slowly picked up in pace and volume as more and more Raiders and Huscarls joined in the war challenge. A thousand harsh voices soon joined in. The challenge shook the island, echoing off of the valley walls and reverberating into the depths of the dragon nests within the mountain.

Freya gripped the handle of her ax and stared down from her perch on the mountain. She had never heard anything uglier or more frightening in her life. The multitudes below her seemed to stretch on forever, and as the chant grew in volume doubt began to grow in her heart as well. Suddenly, the steady rhythm of the enemies' chant faltered. A wave of silence spread from the front ranks of the enemy forces as the chant came to an abrupt halt.

Freya's eyebrows knotted together in confusion at the halt. Suddenly she saw why. Gunnar, in full armor and with his faceless mask down, stood in front of the solid Viking shield wall like a guardian statue. The only movement that came from the masked warrior as he stared down his opponents was his cape as the oblivious sea breeze stirred it. She could see him stare at them, almost like he was taunting them: remember me?

Freya could see the Dreadlacians in the foremost ranks regard their most feared enemy with trepidation in their eyes. Gunnar slowly reached behind his back and drew Dragonfang. The beautiful, polished red blade glinted in the early morning sunlight as it flew out of its sheath and plunged into the ground. At that moment the Ironbeards began smashing their spears against their shields in their traditional counter challenge.

No sooner had they started then a great roar erupted from the Dreadlacian ranks and thousands of Raiders and conscripts rushed forward, covered by what seemed like a million arrows all directed at the lone line of stalwart Ironbeards. Gunnar, unfazed at the pure mass bearing down on him, slowly drew his bow, nocked an arrow, and waited.

By now all eyes on the island were locked on the imminent clash at the base of the mountain, dragon and human alike. The black mass poured toward the solid line and was on the brink of meeting when it seemed to the onlookers that the mass slammed into an invisible wall, just yards from the waiting Viking line. Freya couldn't tell from her elevated position why the charge had stalled in such a drastic way.

Down in the valley however, the cause was much clearer. Great spike pits had been dug and concealed a mere 10 or so yards from the Viking line, and all of the Raiders in the front rank, being inexorably pushed from behind, were in the gory process of filling those pits with their own bodies. At that exact moment, Gunnar let fly his arrow, straight up into the air. The ranks of Viking crossbowmen and catapult men hidden behind the fort let loose all at once, directly into the heart of the valley in front of the Ironbeards.

The Viking volley was infinitely more effective than the million arrows the Dreadlacian soldiers had put into the Ironbeard's tower shields. The Raiders were packed in like yak jerky in a barrel, and the inevitable result was that each missile impacted with flesh.

The Raiders resolutely began to surpass the pits and charge the Ironbeard shield wall. With a great 'Hoom!' the spears descended in time to greet the first visitors that got past the bloody trenches. Then, with a great cry, the swarms leapt the now-filled pits and smashed into the Viking line with a force of a battering ram. The stalwart Vikings were pushed back a couple inches from the initial impact but dug their great boots into the unyielding gravel and halted, straining against the force of the push.

The raiders spilled and swarmed over the shields like the angry sea against a dam. Any Dreadlacian able to clamber over the human barrier was immediately struck down by the ranks of spearmen waiting behind the grunting shield-men. A chorus of whistles erupted from the Ironbeard commanders, and the well-drilled warriors rotated out the men in front, presenting a still-seamless wall of fresh shield-bearers to the Raider horde.

Although he didn't have a shield to hold in line himself, Gunnar was in the thick of the fighting, encouraging the massive Vikings and calling commands. The enemy formations that he really wanted in the teeth of his trap- the great Huscarl Phalanxes- had yet to be drawn toward the Ironbeards, and still lay uncommitted on the beaches. Thousands of Raiders and conscripts continue to swarm past the dark blocks of evil men to add their weight against the Ironbeard wall.

Time to get them moving. He waved to Chief Svern. "Chief! We still gotta draw big boys out! Time to push forward a bit!"

Svern's plumed helm nodded in acknowledgement, and across the spread of the Viking line the iron drums began to sound. As one the Vikings began to move forward, step by step, push by push. They were moving at a snail's pace, but moving nonetheless.

Freya and the Vikings on the ridges watched breathlessly, each person silently encouraging and sending all of their will power down to the embattled warriors below. They could see three of the great Huscarl phalanxes begin to move forward toward the Viking line, while volleys of boulders and great ballistae spears scythed through the thick air toward the Vikings, a few smashing home and sending many Vikings and Raiders hurling backwards.

The mass of bodies bored down onto the Ironbeard warriors, stopping their advance and slowly pressing the stalwart Vikings back with a measured tread of heavy boots. Gunnar was in the center of the Viking lines right beside Chief Svern and his bodyguard. Suddenly, something inside of him told him to check the valley. Quickly disengaging, he was on Shock's back and in the air within seconds. He flew over to Freya's perch on the right arm of the valley and studied the ground below.

The mass of soldiers before them was staggering. Thousands upon thousands pushed toward the small line of Ironbeards, while the enemy fleet was packed deck-to-deck in an effort to off-load all of their men under cover of the rapidly dissipating fog.

Freya couldn't believe the sight before her eyes. All hope had begun to drain away at the pure number of enemy soldiers coming to kill them. Then, to her surprise, she heard Gunnar laugh as he lifted his mask. "Look at them! They've got no room to maneuver. They're packed in like fish in a barrel, with nowhere to run! Now's the time!"

He quickly pulled out his bow and nocked an un-lit flaming arrow in one fluid, instinctive motion. Turning to his wife, he presented the tip of the barbed shaft to her. "Would you like to do the honors, my love?"

She nodded and nudged Flash who lit the end with a small plasma blast. He rotated his body around and let fly up and in the rough direction of the mountain behind them. The arrow disappeared into the thick clouds floating above their heads.

They waited, with the sounds of the battle echoing faintly below them. Freya sat there for a moment. "Isn't something supposed to happen?" she whispered.

He just sat their staring upward into the clouds. Suddenly, faintly, she heard the familiar sound of Toothless' roar floating down like a feather upon her ears.

That feather grew to an avalanche as thousands of dragons and hundreds of Viking horns answers the Alpha's call. And as the noise grew louder and louder, the last of the clouds disappeared. Freya's eyes grew wide. More and more voices were joining in the loud declaration of war, both dragon and human. The cloud above them broke to reveal Hiccup, dramatically holding his flaming sword high in the air, hovering above the mountain, along with a flock of wild dragons so large they blotted out the sun, all sending their roar into the valley below.

They were answered with the war cries of the combined Viking armies standing up on the ridges flanking the Dreadlacian army, and the war-drums of the fleets moving out of the fast-disappearing fog.

Gunnar laughed again at the mass of surprised and fearful faces below him. "See Freya? The trapper finds himself in the trap. _Now_, we have a chance at victory!"

Drawing Dragonfang, he swung it around his head twice and pointed it down at the packed swarm of soldiers below.

With a great cry, the full Viking and dragon army hurled themselves down the slope toward their enemy, bringing death in their maces and talons.


	33. Chapter 31- The Trapper in the Trap

**Chapter 31: The Trapper in the Trap**

The Dreadlacians had nowhere to run. Outcasts and Berkians thundered down onto their left flank, and the combined Uncouth Goth infantry charged down with the Skodians and Nest Guardians on their right. Hiccup and Toothless led a rocket-diving wing of Berkian dragon riders toward the off-loading Dreadlacian artillery, while swarms of wild dragons assaulted the masses of packed soldiers in the valley below.

The ground and air assaults were perfectly timed- as the Raiders and Huscarls formed up to meet the charging Vikings, their deadly formations were blasted apart with streams of fire, utterly scattering the enemy soldiers just in time for the Vikings' impact. And the effect was indescribable. The hulking Viking warriors steamrolled over the scattered outer ranks of the swarming enemy troops, and smashed deep into the Dreadlacians, cutting great swaths through the intimidating black mass that was Dreadlac's army. The Outcasts and Berkians were proving the most destructive of the 'pincher' arms, finding this type of chaotic, confusing, hack-and-slash fighting right up their alley.

But it was the wild dragons, without a doubt, who inflicted the most casualties the first part of the battle. Their assault was directed on the center of the black horde, where there was no escape from the sheets of flame spewed down upon them. Entire Huscarl phalanxes went up in torrents of fire as Monstrous Nightmares sent out blankets of sticky heat into the mass, and Zipplebacks rolled through the screaming conscripts and Raiders around them. Hundreds of flaming soldiers hurled themselves desperately toward the water, inadvertently setting aflame many of their comrades who were in their way.

The wild dragon's effect on the massive fleet crowded in front of the island was no less devastating. The dragon's fire caught on the aged ship's timber quickly, sending many transports and warships to the bottom well before the Berserker, Scarhead, and Shivering Shores fleets smashed into the flanks of the armada. Formations of Timberjacks sped through the outer rings of ships, their razor-sharp wings slashing through the forests of masts below them, effectively immobilizing dozens of crafts and trapping hundreds more from escaping the wrath of the Viking fleets.

Hiccup and his Dragon riders used the chaos as the perfect cover to carry out precision strikes on any archer formations or anti-dragon artillery they could find, using their decades of combined experience to good use. A torrent of plasma bolts, Nadder spines, lava boulders, and acid destroyed every war machine they could find on the beach.

/

Astrid's aerial view from high above the battle was peaceful and pristine, quite the difference from the chaos and destruction far below. Her sharp eyes could see that the Viking ground forces where making wonderful inroads into the outer rings of the Dreadlacian army, but it appeared that the center was regrouping surprisingly fast. She'd have to do something about that.

The superior Viking fleets where also doing well, and it appeared that the cackling Dagur was close to breaking through to the transports. Astrid grinned. Ol' Dagur was probably having an absolute blast with Sleuther. As she began her dive toward Hiccup (so she could have someone direct fire on the men reforming in the center of the enemy army) she could see the unmistakable shape of Gunnar's TitanWing Nadder and Freya's Nightlight dive from the cliffs and onto the battlefield. It looked like they decided it was time to find and kill Dreadlac himself. She sent a small prayer after the two of them as they disappeared into the pandemonium of the battle.

Gunnar and Shock, with Freya and Flash close on their 6, where weaving through the aerial storm of fire, flame, and arrows. All eyes of the duo were glued to the ground, searching for the unmistakable mass of Dreadlac and his Housecarl Guard. Ducking and diving through the storm of arrows, boulders, and fire, Gunnar's sharp eyes spotted a knot of evil looking heavily-armed masked men in defensive positions near the primary unloading point in the bay.

And near them stood a massive man dressed in all in black. He was ugly- from his chain mail to his massive twin axes to the black horns on his helmet. With an excited snarl Gunnar turned Shock's head toward the cluster of men and bored in for the kill.

/

Dreadlac stared at the thousands of dragons suddenly hovering above his army, with their infamous black King floating in front. He started shoving his way back toward his ships, yelling to send forward the reserve anti-air artillery, when he was stopped by the deep sound of a huge mass of Vikings yelling their great war cry. It was at this moment that he realized his mistake, and how big of a fight he was in. Victory was no longer a matter of time- now he had a fight on his hands.

But not all of his cards where on the field yet, and he did have a contingency plan for just this situation. He'd just have to hope that it would work fast enough. As the utter destruction of his advanced units began, he rushed to the shore line and shouted for Uldrig, his chief sorcerer. The shadowy man appeared at once.

"Send a message to the 13th fleet to attack the enemy refuge at once! Do it now!" The crooked, slithery man nodded. "They already have." He quickly disappeared within the depths of the flagship. Dreadlac turned and began doing his best to rally as many of the men from the forward units as he possibly could. He wasn't having much of an effect though- no matter how frightening a man can be he can't beat a pack of pissed off Whispering Deaths.

Dreadlac quickly formulated a plan. He yelled for Hackett and was instantly answered. "Hackett, listen carefully! I want every conscript and Raider you can get your hands on sent to the front to slow the Viking infantry as much as possible. The Huscarls will be going in later, we can't afford to lose any more of them to those damn reptiles." The veteran warrior nodded and ran off to complete his orders.

Dreadlac turned to another one of his Huscarl officers. "Get every man with a bow, net, javelin, anything, I don't care, just get men shooting at those dragons, NOW!" A quick response and that man was off as well. He was about to give another order about the artillery when a warning cry came from a nearby Huscarl.

He turned just in time to spot a huge red and black Nadder smash into his bodyguard.

Now, during the months preceding the battle, Gunnar had perfected a suit of armor for Shock. It was a well-designed suit consisting of dozens of thin Gronckle Iron plates covered in hardened leather. The suit had a dual purpose- to not only protect the massive dragon without effecting maneuverability, but also to increase Shock's offensive effect.

In order to accomplish this goal, Gunnar had attached sharp spikes to the Nadder's forehead plate, and well-honed spines to the small plates protecting the leading edge of his wings. But the deadliest addition was the razor-sharp miniscule blades that were embedded into the TitanWing's shinguards. Shock's favorite attack was to bulldoze into a tightly-packed group of men, swinging his horned head, sharp tail, and massive legs to and fro within the formation, wreaking devastation among his enemies. All the while saving his all-to-precious magnesium fire for when he really needed it. The increased visual intimidation factor was a side plus.

Now both Gunnar and Dreadlac were seeing the true effect of those upgrades. The veteran TitanWing's impact into the Huscarls was devastating. Men went flying in every direction, most in more than one piece. The ones who _weren't_ immediately sent flying had a span of about five seconds before they were struck by either a spiked tail, an armored dragon forehead, or a mace of a foot with aforementioned bladed shin guards.

Within seconds most of Dreadlac's bodyguards where destroyed, while the few that were left clustered around their leader. A circle of space cleared around the two archnemesis' as Raiders, conscripts, and sailors put plenty of space between them and the ferocious dragon and his rider. Gunnar's eyes locked with Dreadlac's. It was the first time either of them had seen the other up close before. Both knew only one of them would be leaving the clearing.

Gunnar slid off of a snarling Shock and brandished Dragonfang. He slowly twirled the blade through the air and started approaching Dreadlac. The monstrous man grinned evilly. "oh hohoho! You want to go toe-to-toe do ya? Not gonna just let your dragon toast me or something, eh?!"

Gunnar's eyebrow popped up and he flicked his shoulder forward. In response Shock blasted the knot of men with a humungous blast of magnesium fire. All but Dreadlac where immediately incinerated, their ashes further disintegrating in the torrent of tremendous heat that was magnesium fire. When the sparks cleared both men had smirks on. "Haha! See? I am impervious to-"

"Oh, I already knew that. I just decided to skip the warm up your guards offered." Dreadlac's superior smirk degenerated into an evil scowl. "Then you'll find me a tough target to defeat, _Butcher_."

Gunnar stopped walking and smoothly entered a fighting stance, his gleaming blade forward. "Butcher? That's funny. You're more deserving of that title yourself, _animal_."

Dreadlac slowly picked up his tremendous ax and the two started circling. Both were evaluating each other, looking for any apparent weaknesses. Neither found any to start- but Gunnar already knew one.

He grinned. This was his favorite part. "So, you're more normal looking than I thought."

Dreadlac scoffed. "I have a hard time figuring out why such a small worm like you has survived the cold this long, let alone my warriors."

Gunnar rolled his shoulders. "Oh the entire Archipelago knows about that failure. Everyone also knows that you've been in what, 7 months into your campaign and you've yet to win a single battle against us?"

Dreadlac growled. Gunnar grinned again. His meaner side had dearly missed playing with prey. "You know something, ugly? I've been fighting you for 7 years. _7 years_. And you've yet to catch me. I've been spitting in your face ever since you got to Ireland, and there hasn't been a thing you've been able to do to stop me. And here we are." A savage grin lit his concealed face, his eagerness clearly showing in his eyes as he gripped Dragonfang. "I'll be able to finally spit in your face for real this time."

With a horrifying roar, Dreadlac hurled himself at the small warrior in front of him. Like a maddened troll with a club, his ax whistled downward with tremendous force toward the charging Irishman, only to meet dirt. Gunnar had side-stepped at the last possible moment, bringing his own blade whirring across Dreadlac's faceplate, severing the leather cheek guard but unable to pierce the chainmail underneath.

Before the Irishman could strike again, the monster had ripped his ax out of the ground and directly toward the masked warrior near him. Gunnar caught the ax with his reinforced gauntlet, pushing his elbow up and sending the majority of the blow flying over his head. With the speed of a Triple Stryke he was back in close to the massive man, stabbing forward with as much strength as he could muster. But to his surprise, Dragonfang refused to bite, the blade stopping cold and hard on what felt like an iron plate hidden underneath of the overlying chainmail.

Dreadlac's response was immediate, delivering a powerful backhand swing that sent Gunnar flying at least ten feet away. The tough solider was on his feet before Dreadlac could recover, eyeing his opponent as his practiced brain came up with new assaults to try. This was going to more fun than he thought.

Dreadlac picked up another ax and began to swing the two deadly weapons around in powerful arcs. Leisurely at first, but growing in speed and ferocity. "I'm going to enjoy ripping your head from your shoulders, you miserable ANT. Why would you even face me on a one-to-one fight? Is it an ego I smell? Bragging rights?"

Gunnar snarled. "Because I made a promise." He stood up and drew his long knife from the back of his belt. "To cut off your head with my own two hands and deliver it _personally_ to my family you slaughtered, and my village you destroyed." He snapped into another fighting stance, ripping his blade across his knife to create a shower of blue sparks. "And I'm a man of my word."

Gunnar lept at the flurry of axes, somehow evading every swing- deflecting or dodging each blow with practiced precision. He slashed his knife toward Dreadlac's throat, but the blow was foiled by a lightning-fast reaction as Dreadlac whipped his head back and countered, smashing both of his axes together in a scissor-like motion. Gunnar ducked and stepped backward, his eyes blazing.

Dreadlac growled. "Your 'village' huh? That's what is causing all of this? I call _bullshit_." He swung wildly. Gunnar dodged the haymaker easily. "You couldn't care less about that dejected circle of rotting huts in the middle of nowhere! You've never had a home. And even if you did, that place definitely wasn't it."

He brought both axes down in quick succession, which just earned him another slash across the face. It didn't draw blood, but still made him grunt. He stepped forward and swung again. "And 'family', eh? Heh, you really cared about them! You've already moved on and got all lovey-dovey with a famous chieftain's daughter just to get rank with your new hosts, didn't you?" His next blow landed once again on dirt, as Gunnar backflipped and landed easily, his smirk hidden by his helmet's mask.

Dreadlac turned to the insufferable gnat in front of him and pulled out his special card as he wound up for another blow: "And you think I believe that you're really fighting for your old family? I happen to have it on good authority that your first marriage was _arranged_. You never loved that weakling of a girl in the first place." Gunnar's instincts were the only thing that helped him avoid Dreadlac's next blow.

He was shocked. How on earth did Dreadlac find that out?! There was only one person _alive_ that knew that detail- and Freya definitely wasn't a spy. He ripped his head backward to avoid a potentially decapitating blow and rolled to put some distance between him and his opponent. Stay focused, Gunnar thought. He's trying to get inside of your head and get you to act prematurely. Just like you were doing to him. Finish him first and worry about that later.

He stood up and stared at Dreadlac, who looked quite pleased with himself. Gunnar tighten his grip on Dragonfang. "Well well well, you smelly hedge pig. Congratulations. You did some research before showing up to the party. But obviously not enough." He lept forward and swung at Dreadlac's head, which the big guy promptly blocked. "You found out one thing about me but missed the rest." Another swing, another clash of steel on steel. "And anyways, why should I care about that? You obviously have no intelligence in that weaselly little brain of yours. You let your entire army get absolutely _played_ by some lowly Irish militiaman."

There was a pause in their duel. A flaming Zippleback cartwheeled nearby, hurling screaming men to and fro. And from the sea came the sound of men being broiled alive as a Scaldron unleashed havoc upon their boat. Gunner tilted his head cockily. "And look at what's happening to them." Dreadlac growled. "Don't think you have me trapped just yet, _boy_." The vehemence of that last word betrayed Dreadlac's diminishing patience. "I'm not the only one who's underestimated his opponent. You'll realize that soon."

Their blades clashed together again, their duel continuing. Meanwhile, Freya (after making sure Gunnar was safe on the ground) had gone on to find her parents to make sure they were ok. She quickly located her father- the whistling black streak of death was hard to miss- and she found her mother after a minute of searching. She nudged Flashbang toward the hovering Nadder. "Mom! You need help with anything?" Astrid launched a Terrible Terror and turned to her daughter. "Not yet! We do have a problem developing in the center, though. Our ground troops haven't engaged most of the remaining Huscarl phalanxes. We need to hit them quickly before they launch a counter attack."

Freya nodded. "I'll grab some Monstrous Nightmares and any Whispering deaths I can find to hit them." Astrid nodded. "Good. We'll have to—Whoah Stormfly!" Both dragons began flying erratically, trying to head out to sea. "Hold up girl! What's wrong?!" They were soon stopped by their riders, but something else was happening. Wild dragons from all over the battlefield where suddenly lifting up and flying North-Eastward as fast as they could. Freya was absolutely baffled.

"Where are they going?! Wait… what, is that Toothless?! What is dad _doing_?!" Flying toward them was Toothless, and on top of him rode a very disordered Viking Chieftain. Astrid yelled at him as he passed by his very confused wife and daughter. "Hiccup? Where are you _going_!?"

All they got back was a faint "I have absolutely no ideaaaaaa!" as he zipped past them and disappeared out to sea with roughly 80% of the wild dragons that they started with. Both armies watched them go with either elation and relief, or foreboding sense of dread.

Gunnar watched the exodus in absolute disbelief. Why in the world where they (Shock included) leaving in such a hurry? Evil laughing snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned around to see that Dreadlac had cast off his cloak and stood there, ready for _real_ battle. "What did I tell you, Outlaw? I wasn't the only one who got outmaneuvered."

Gunnar tilted his head skeptically. "This is _your_ doing?"

Dreadlac rolled his shoulders and brandished his twin axes. "Oh, you better believe it. I knew you missed one of my fleets when we first came here. Miscounted or something, I don't know. So I kept it hidden, until now. That fleet is currently assaulting Dragon's Edge and all of your precious non-combatants. Your dragon king heard about it and is rushing off to help… leaving you and all of your warriors…" He grinned and his eyes flashed with evil satisfaction.

"…to me. Again."


	34. Chapter 32- The Key Difference (Pt 1)

**Chapter 32: The Key Difference **

Gunnar couldn't believe it. After years of planning and preparation, after _everything_ he did leading up to this battle, Dreadlac pulled the same maneuver that had crushed him so long ago. And Gunnar never saw it coming. The EXACT same underhanded, devious, _simple_ trick, and Gunnar fell for it.

He turned around, his eyes burning in rage. Dreadlac grinned maliciously. "Yes, yes, that's it. Attack me! Vent your puny anger on me! Break yourself on my ax!"

Gunnar started shaking. The fire deep in his eyes burned with such ferocity that he could see the Huscarls running to support their commander recoiling in fear. He gripped his sword's handle and detached his chest rig- his bow and quiver fell away into the mud. The weight of his failure- his warriors where going to experience the same thing that had almost killed him all those years ago. His men's families were probably burning as they stood there.

The only thing that he could do now, was to make sure he was never able to pull that again- on anybody. And the only way to do that was by killing him. Painfully. He could feel his muscles bulging as a familiar and feared character seemed to take complete control of his brain. Then the man suddenly hurling himself at Dreadlac wasn't Gunnar Steadyfoot, or the Archer, or even the Irishman. It was the Outlaw. Just the Outlaw that was yelling curses in Irish and attacking Dreadlac in a blood-rage that had never before been seen in the Archipelago.

/

The wild dragons had been key to Gunnar's plan, and every chief knew it. So, when they saw Toothless rocketing off with essentially their entire swarm, the chiefs didn't know what to do. And to further compound their problems, it was directly after the exodus that Hackett launched the Huscarl's counterattack. Even though there were still enough dragon riders to keep them from employing their feared Phalanx formations, the three of four thousand Huscarls, supported by all of the remaining Raiders and conscripts, presented an immense issue to the scattered and disorganized Vikings.

It was when the lines met again that things really turned bloody. The Huscarls were possibly the most dangerous troops on the field- and the Vikings were quite winded from their earlier push. The Vikings quickly formed up as best they could, and met the Huscarls' charge with ax and mace. For many areas of the battlefield, it turned into a clash of titans- massive Viking warriors determinedly (and stubbornly) facing down twice their number of monstrous Huscarls, both sides determined to fight to the death.

Astrid though, was in her element. She and Aker swooped through the air, seemingly everywhere at once. Patching holes here, directing other dragon riders there, snatching Queen Lilja out of the air when her Razorwhip was shot down. Her and her son's solid command presence and confidence helped many a Viking Chief or commander keep their troops in the fight, even if the Vikings were being pushed back across the board. But when she stopped for a moment to assess the overall situation, she didn't like what she saw.

Both sides had pushed each other to utmost of their capabilities, and the outcome of the battle lay on the edge of a knife. Even the smallest new advantage or successful push would tip the scales irrevocably in favor of the attackers. Unfortunately, everything the Vikings had was either on the field fighting or flying over the ocean somewhere, and Dreadlac's forces where the more likely to have something extra hidden in their sizable (albeit battered) fleet.

The only thing the Vikings could do to tip the scales in their favor was to kill Dreadlac. It was settled. She would find Dreadlac and help Gunner kill him if he wasn't already dead. Aker would take over command of the remaining Berkian riders while she handled this. She signaled Freya and dove like a beautiful, righteous Valkyrie toward the beachhead, her sharp eyes searching the beach and her hand gripping her mother's study ax.

/

The series of lightning-fast attacks that were being poured on Dreadlac were too fast for the normal eye to see. The Outlaw alternated in between knife and sword, left and right, up and down, showering the monster in front of him with a bewildering array of combos, testing every weak spot he could find. It took only a few short seconds to realize that the only place he might be able to penetrate was the one place with no armor- Dreadlac's ugly mug itself.

The Outlaw stepped back, took a split second to plan his assault, then launched it. Dreadlac's response was to little, to late. The armored terror quickly dunked underneath the ax thrown at him, slid to right in front of Dreadlac, leapt over the second ax curving toward his midsection, and used his sword to curve around the ax's blade, flinging it away from it's now dis-armed owner. Another quick leap brought his knife flashing down into Dreadlac's eyeball.

But something happened. Gunnar couldn't process what he was seeing. It didn't make any sense. He saw, with his own eyes, the razor-sharp knife hit his enemies' open eyeball, then spring back with a shower of sparks, the end flying off toward the ground. Gunnar landed from his jump and looked at the remains of his knife in shock. A dark, humorless, voice drifted down from right above him.

"I knew you, and only you, would have the guts to try to kill me yourself someday. So I had a spell cast on me that made me invulnerable to you. You can do whatever you want, but you can't harm me." Gunnar looked up at Dreadlac's wicked grin, his brain racing to find some solution or explanation as to how that could be possible, but coming up empty. "And _now_, it is my turn to play."

/

Freya was feeling nervous, but confident at the same time. She wasn't a dummy when it came to war- her mother made sure of that. Freya could tell the deciding moment of the battle was approaching, but she wasn't sure when, or what, it would be. And whether or not she would have to play a part in it. She had been following her mother's dragon, zipping to and fro across the battlefield, when she saw Astrid stop and hover. As she watched her mother survey the battlefield, she could see the Berkian Chieftess come to a decision and signal Freya to follow her. And as they dove, Freya's sharp mind quickly figured out what her mother's new target was- Dreadlac.

Suddenly she saw Astrid gasp and urge Stormfly into a shallow rocket dive. Freya followed suit. Then she saw the issue. Dreadlac was batting Gunnar around like Bucket would a dead fish. Her husband was desperately trying to defend himself but didn't seem to be able to…strike was the wrong word… _hurt_ the monster assaulting him. She couldn't understand why Dreadlac was still alive, but then she saw why. In a move born of instinct, she saw Gunnar weave to avoid a blow, then backhand his sword right into his rival's face.

Freya was _sure_ that Dragonfang had made contact with flesh, but saw the weapon bounce right off with no effect. She could see the dismay in her husband's eyes as he back peddled away from the triumphant laughter that followed him. Suddenly she could see Gunnar stumble, a Raider arrow in the back of his leg, and Dreadlac was on top of him.

Without even thinking, she lept off of Flash, sent the dragon roaring at the offending Raider, and landed a couple dozen feet behind Dreadlac's hulking back. In front of her she could see her husbands' beloved bow and a quiver of his finest arrows, just laying in the mud. She glanced up and saw that Dreadlac was straddling the helpless warrior, doing something that was making Gunnar's legs spasm and struggle.

Without thinking, she snatched up his bow, nocked and arrow, and took aim, just as Gunnar had taught her all of those years ago. _Pull the sting back smoothly… good, tilt your head a little more to the right… left forefinger out, pointing at the target… rest the arrowhead on that, sight down the shaft…_

_…And let fly._

/

Another blow sent Gunnar reeling, his broken dagger flying out of his hand. Dreadlac was playing with him, and there was nothing Gunnar could do to harm the big man. He growled and jerked his body to the right, bringing Dragonfang slashing across with all of his strength onto Dreadlac's face, but getting nothing in response. He back peddled furiously, trying to find a way to escape.

Suddenly he could feel the bite of an arrow sting into the back of his left leg, causing him to momentarily fall to his knees with a stifled cry of pain. But before he could even move, Dreadlac knocked him onto his back, and shoved his meaty hands around Gunnar's neck.

All the Irishman could see was Dreadlac's evil face as he desperately tried to wrench the hands away from his throat. But the merciless grip tightened, cutting off the life-giving flow of air to his lungs. As his vision began to blur out, and the final black curtains closed from the corner of his eyes, he struck at Dreadlac in one final act of defiance, throwing up his fists at the ugly face leering over him. To his utter astonishment, Dreadlac's head arced up, and a cry of pain echoed from the monster's mouth. The hands of death removed themselves from his throat, and Gunnar could feel his oxygen-starved lungs begin to swallow huge gulps of air as he blacked out.

Dreadlac's back felt as if a tree and smashed into it. He stood up and turned around, searching for the offender. And there in front of him stood a tall, brown haired Viking woman, his enemies' bow in her hands. She was armored very similarly to the coughing man lying behind him, but her eyes blazed with a different kind of fury behind the visor.

He reached behind him and snapped the arrow shaft from his back. "Let me guess who you are. _You_ are the Viking that the Butcher cares about so much." He picked up his ax and grinned wickedly. "Thank you for showing up. Now I really _can_ kill you before I kill him."

Freya threw down the bow and drew her own ax. "My name is Freya McHartson, shieldmaiden of the Haddock clan. And by my ax you will die." She snapped into the stance that her mother had taught her.

The big guy just laughed. "Oh really? Well, I haven't heard anything about _you_. Let's see how good you are." Roaring, he rushed at the young woman, raising his ax to split her in half. There was flash blue, a grunt, and Dreadlac had disappeared. Freya looked around confusingly, and saw him hauling himself up, looking just as confused as she did. Then she heard it- a familiar squawk, a whoosh, and she felt Astrid land next to her.

The seasoned Viking general twirled her ax in a circle and grinned confidently. "So, you're the disgusting mouse that has been causing all of this ruckus." Dreadlac got up and stared at the two of them. Astrid just studied him in mild interest. "You've yet to fight a real Viking, haven't you?" Her ax spun in mid air and was back in its owner's hand in a flash. "It's about time we show you how Vikings deal with problems like you."

Astrid's grin disappeared and was replaced with a snarl fierce enough to make a Skrill shake in terror. "_My_ name is Astrid Haddock, warrior of the Hofferson clan and Chieftess of Berk. And by the power vested in me, you have been sentenced to death." Uncertainty flashed over Dreadlac's face for an instant, before he snatched his weapons up and charged the two of them with the force of a Catastrophic Quaken.

He swung at Astrid but missed by a mile. She had backflipped, using her ax to increase the distance covered by the maneuver, and landed, laughing. Enraged, he hurled himself at her and swung again, this time a stroke designed to fell the toughest tree. To his amazement, he caught a flash of a blond disappearing over his head, then felt a kick to his back, right where Freya's arrow had embedded itself, sending the barbed shaft deep into his shoulder. As he fell forward onto his face, he had just enough time to deflect Freya's weapon as it arced upward toward his neck. Landing, he rolled to the side and studied his opponents. This was going to be much harder than he thought, but not impossible. He stood up and readied himself. He began another bull charge when he saw Astrid leap off of Freya's ax and swing at his head midair, screaming her famous war cry. He brought his ax up to block the blow, believing his monstrous 50ib weapon able to stop the strike of a mere woman.

What a mistake.

Astrid's old ax smashed into his own with a ring loud enough to be heard all across the embattled valley. His weapon shattered into a thousand shards, most of which went flying into his face. Astrid's ax, still on its deadly arc toward his head, glanced upward from the impact and ripped his helmet off. His head snapped back painfully, and he crashed into the ground like a downed rhino, skidding to where Freya was standing.

Astrid landed in a sharp crouch and glanced behind her. Dreadlac's massive body slowly writhed on the ground, hands clutching its head. Scoffing, she blew a wisp of hair out of her face. She glanced over at Freya, who despite the mask, was obviously staring at her with mouth wide open.

Astrid glanced down at her ax- a massive dent marked the impact point of the blades. Frozen ripples radiated from the cavity, effectively removing the integrity of that half of her ax. But no cracks marred the blade, she noted with approval. That meant Hiccup would be able to fix it quite easily. Ah, what a good old ax.

"And _that_, is how it's done. Took about ten seconds flat. Speaking of which, let's go see if Gunnar is alright."

As the two women moved away, a black shape silently heaved itself out of the ground.

/

Freya ran up to the unconscious warrior and worriedly removed his helmet. The poor man's face was badly bruised, and a small trickle of blood was coming out of the corner of his mouth. "Gunnar? Baby? Can you hear me?" She noted that his dented chest plate was rising and falling evenly just as Astrid walked up and said "He'll be alright, he just blacked out." Freya gently cradled his head, smiling slightly. "It's ok, I'm right here. Just like I said I would. Common Gunnar, wake up. We won. We killed him."

There was a whoosh, and to Freya's horror, a large rock slammed into the side of Astrid's head, ricocheting off toward space. Her mother's limp body slammed into the ground with the finality of a prison gate slamming shut, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as her ax fell to the ground. Freya ripped her head toward the source of the missile and saw something so hideous she would remember it for the rest of her life.

Dreadlac was standing before her, his wounded shoulder slouching downward unnaturally. What was left of his armor was coated in mud and blood, ripped and torn in places. But the scariest part of him was his face. He was quite hideous to begin with, but the effects of that ax clash turned him into a monster. Blood from a hundred cuts dripped down his face, including over a swollen left eye. Drool and foam bubbled from his mouth and puncture holes in his cheeks. His eyes where what made him truly look deranged, though. They were bloodshot, with the irises an unnatural blood-red color. They burned with a hatred and an insanity that could only be found in the depths of hell.

He approached her unsteadily with his only remaining ax in hand, staring at her in pure hate. She scrambled up in horror as he growled: "I. Have had. ENOUGH!" He swung wildly at the terrified girl in front him, causing her to stumble backward to avoid the blow. He smashed his ax into the ground, only narrowly missing her as she rolled to the side. "I'm going to _kill_ you painfully," He smashed his ax into the ground again, once again dodged as Freya rolled left. "and let your _screams_ wake that DAMN MAN UP!" He tried to stomp on her, but she managed to avoid the blow again. But after the maneuver she found that she had been backed up to the timbers of a destroyed catapult- she could go no farther.

He leaned down, wicked glee written all over his face. "Then, I'm going to show him your dead, mangled body, _listen_ to his cries of despair, and slowly crush the life out of him as he looks at what is left of his puny resistance." Then, despite the fear covering her eyes, she spit in his face. "We're never going to give up. We're Vikings! And even if you kill us, our _children_ will still fight you, with every fiber of their being." A tear rolled down her cheek as she thought of her babies, still too young to hold their heads up, sleeping in the safety of New Berk. "You will _never_ conquer us." she whispered as Dreadlac slowly rose to his full height.

"So, somewhere out there, the Outlaw has children, hmm?" He smashed his boot into her chest, cracking may of her ribs and causing her to cry out in pain. "Thank you for that little piece of information. And now-" He stopped. Something had caught his attention- a strange sound was echoing from far away. He slowly turned his head around south. Before him another fleet showed itself, hurling toward the scattered Viking ships fighting in the bay.


	35. Chapter 32- The Key Difference (Pt 2)

Upon the horizon, leaping over the waves toward the smoke of battle, rode the strange fleet. It flew an outlandish flag- a blue squarish design on a forest green background. The fleet grew in size, speeding toward the retreating Scarhead ships and the fighting remains of the Berserkers. Hundreds of strange horns blew a battle cry never before heard in the land of the Viking. Across the battlefield, the faltering Vikings and the victorious Huscarls watched in wonder. Then, as the full fleet approached, an outlandish, deadly sound flew over the waves and onto the beach, stopping every fight and turning every head.

Dreadlac's eyes grew wide. The sound of Irish battle pipes was something he thought he had destroyed long ago. Then, as the sight grew clearer, the decks of the boats where seen to be crowded with thousands of shirtless, tattooed warriors, all with flashing green eyes, and spears raised to the sky. As one, the Irish army began their chant, voices flowing in tune to the trumpets and pipes- a beautiful and frightening melody of death. Thousands of bloodthirsty voices rose in a declaration of war, each warrior eager to revenge Ireland's defeat at the hands of Dreadlac and restore their tribes' honor.

They were answered with the thunder of hundreds of cheering Vikings and dragons, all who raised their weapons to the sky in joyful greeting. Dreadlac roared his frustration at the approaching fleet, his still-sizable army dissolving in panic. He ripped his head around to the squirming creature underneath his boot, his rage at his imminent defeat echoing in his eyes.

Freya, despite the pain, had almost begun to laugh in happiness at the beautiful sight of the Irishmen approaching, but Dreadlac's glare silenced her. He slowly raised his ax above his head, her death written in his face. She slowly stopped struggling and stared up, finally excepting the fact that she was about to die. She closed her eyes, another tear staining her cheek. Her thoughts first flew to her children, who she'd been with for only a short week. _I'm sorry_, she thought. _I'm so sorry I'll never be able to watch you two grow. I'm sorry your mother will never be there for you. I just hope you forgive me for doing this. And Gunnar, I hope you remember: there's no other place I'd rather be._ _Goodbye, my love. I'll see you in Valhalla_.

She heard the sound of the ax whistling downward and calmly braced herself. But instead of getting hit, she heard the metallic clang of metal on metal. She opened her eyes to find herself staring straight at a sword blade, quivering from the ax's impact but holding strong. Then she recognized the careful engraving on the blade- it was Dragonfang.

/

The sounds of battle echoed faintly in Gunnar's head. It warbled and shook, almost dancing away as he tried to focus on it. Suddenly, he heard a sound. Something that he hadn't heard in years and yet still stirred him to the depths of his soul. Irish battle pipes. The music seemed to be a lifeline, pulling him back toward conscience. He opened his eyes and the sounds became crystal clear. The ring of swords, roar of dragons, the rumble in the ground as thousands of feet pounded it, the groaning of Astrid lying next to him, the- wait, Astrid? He squinted, and the view became clear. Astrid was lying on the ground next to him, groaning in pain as she held her head. What was Astrid doing here? If she was here… "Freya" he mumbled. He struggled over, head swinging wozzily side to side trying to find her. He saw her riderless dragon fighting a ring of spearmen a good distance away. He saw Stormfly, a net snagged on her horns, blasting Raiders near Flashbang, oblivious to her rider's pain.

Then he spotted her. Dreadlac loomed over Freya, temporarily distracted by the Irish fleet approaching. He could see her writhe in pain, as his heavy boot slowly ground her into the dirt.

Something deep within him drove him up. Made his numb arm grab Dragonfang, and throw his helmet and mask away. Seemed to force his headache and confusion into a closet in the back of his head and drive him forward. A determined grimace laced his face as he staggered up and lurched toward the two. His steps gained in strength as he saw Dreadlac turn his enraged attention toward Freya. Nuh-uh. That wasn't happening. Not on his watch.

/

Dreadlac couldn't believe his eyes. How in the world did the damn _Irish_ get here? They weren't even supposed to have enough people for a mere regiment of warriors- let alone an entire army! And who's ships where those? How? His mind went blank with rage as he realized that, in the end, the Butcher _had_ outmaneuvered him. He slowly turned his head toward the Butcher's woman, and he could see her despair at his glance. It gave him a little bit of pleasure, but not enough to counter his rage. He raised his ax, wanting to see her blood splatter over his boot and the ground, wanting to see the Butcher's face when he awoke and realized what had happened.

He swung. But the blade caught on something. His eyes widened in shock. Gunnar stood there, for the first time helmetless and maskless, holding Dragonfang up and straining against the force of the blow. The thin sword hovering mere inches from the startled woman's face. The Irishman glanced at his surprised opponent, his face contorted with effort, and snarled at him. "Oh, ho-ho-ho, no you don't."

Ripping his blade over, he kicked Dreadlac back with full-on breaching kick, sending the monster hurling backwards. He glanced behind him, eyes asking whether or not she was ok. She gave him a confident nod, and he charged after the bloody beast that was scrambling up a couple yards away. She painfully propped herself up and stared after him. "Go get him." She whispered.

As Gunnar ran, he returned Dragonfang to his back in one fluid motion. He knew that the sword wouldn't bite: the only way to hurt the monster would be with blunt force. And he saw just the weapon to do it with. Dreadlac stood up from the blow and saw Gunnar, seemingly weaponless, charging at him. He swung his ax at Gunnar like a baseball bat, attempting to behead the enraging bug that refused to die. Gunnar slid under the blow leaning back on his knees, smashing his fist into Dreadlac's right kidney as he passed. The big man grunted from the impact and swung around, brandishing his remaining ax ferociously. He turned to find that Gunnar had slid past and grabbed a sturdy ax handle, wielding it and a broken spear shaft of similar size as a pair of batons.

The two of them collided, Dreadlac swinging in wild, powerful arcs like an infuriated boar. Gunnar was up in close with the monster, landing three or four blows between every swing Dreadlac would try to land. Every impact by the sturdy batons landed with a solid whack- every blow eliciting a grunt of pain. The battle seemed to be almost stuck in a rhythm for seconds of eternity: Swing-dodge-thump-thump-thump, Swing-duck-thump-thump-thump, Swing-weave-thump-thump-thump. Each blow targeted a weak spot- Dreadlac's face, kidneys, wounded arm, groin- anywhere that the monster's muscle and fat didn't serve as a shock absorber.

Dreadlac was getting angrier and angrier, each blow by the whirling batons feeling like a bee sting- alone, easily ignorable. But combined- a level of infuriating pain. He swung his ax and fist wilder and harder, desperate to land a blow on his opponent. Gunnar's brow was furrowed in calm concentration, landing his blows with surgical precision. Suddenly, an opening. Dreadlac swung his ax low, so hard that when it didn't connect, he hurled himself forward onto his hands. Gunnar saw the blow coming from a mile away- when it came he lept over the blade and brought his spear shaft down onto the snapped arrow still embedded in Dreadlac's back- hard enough to shatter both the spear and arrow.

Dreadlac roared in pain as the six inches of arrow disappeared deep into his shoulder. Pushing off with his hands and feet he hurled his full mass into the air (and Gunnar), knocking the Irishman away with incredible force. The landed close to each other, Dreadlac immediately launching a strike with enough force to have come from orbit. Gunnar rolled and lept to his feet, ax haft forward. He looked down at the weapon. All that was left was the lower eight inches, the rest a pile of shattered splinters underneath Dreadlac's body. He looked up in time to see that Dreadlac had moved to his feet and was swinging in powerful horizontal stroke at his head, clearly to be followed with another vertical blow.

Dropping his head, he had Dragonfang out in a flash of red steel- just in time to catch Dreadlac's ax as it came whistling downward. The force of the impact drove Gunnar to one knee, but his sword held strong, the well-designed blade proving up to the task. Dreadlac left his ax there and leaned his weight upon it, seeking to crush Gunnar where he stood.

At first Dragonfang held, but ten seconds into the pushing battle the blade was quivering as Dreadlac began to outmatch the pinned Irishman in the competition of strength. Dreadlac had his full mass behind the ax- the complete might of his all of his supernatural fury being put into the contest.

At first Dragonfang faltered and fell back an inch… and then another. Panic appeared in the soldier's eyes as his brain assessed the situation without finding a clear way out. A cry suddenly came from his left- he turned his head to see the helpless Freya, still clasping her injured midsection, staring at them with horror in her eyes. The two made eye contact, the shared panic evident. Time seemed to slow- Gunnar knew that if he fell, Freya was doomed. His brain raced to New Berk- he could see his twins, sleeping peacefully in their cribs, Valka watching them as she paced worriedly. If he fell…

He turned his attention back to the vicious, bloody snarl hovering above his sweating face. He gritted his teeth. "Not… today." A new strength unlike anything Gunnar had ever felt before coursed through his veins, and he started pushing his blade back upwards toward Dreadlac's neck, roaring in extreme exertion. Dreadlac strained with all of his effort against the force, but he could not stop the movement as his ax got pushed slowly backwards. The contest had changed- it was no longer a match of strength and of rage- but of will.

The wrath disappeared from Dreadlac's eyes and he stared at Gunnar, easily half his size, in amazement and confusion. Gunnar didn't have any hate in his eyes at all, just plain and simple concentration and determination as he stood up from his kneeling position, still applying an overwhelming force to his blade. Dreadlac couldn't understand it. He was pushing against the Irishman with all of his might, weight, and fury, but to no avail.

Then, in a lightning flash of movement, Gunnar swept Dreadlac's leg out from underneath him, sending both crashing to the ground. Gunnar was now kneeling on top of Dreadlac, pushing his blade downward onto his neck. Dreadlac's ax fell to the ground, and he grasped the blade with both of his hands, fighting for his life- real fear echoed in his eyes. All of his previous confidence was gone. His right hand started groping wildly for a weapon next to him, anything, as the Irishman on top of him continued moving his sword inexorably downward.

The hairs on his huge black beard where starting to snap at Dragonfang's slow advance when he felt his hand grasp something. Gripping the blade firmly, he swung it up and buried it in Gunnar's side, ripping through the leather and chainmail and biting deep into flesh.

/

Freya gaped in utter amazement as she saw Gunnar begin _really_ pushing back. She couldn't understand what had changed after their wordless exchange. She saw him pull his favorite take down move, pressing down on his sword with incredible force. Dreadlac was struggling, legs writhing as he began groping on the ground next them. She gritted her teeth and began dragging herself, ribs screaming in protest, toward the still wrestling pair. She suddenly realized what Dreadlac was trying to do- but before she could yell a warning Dreadlac had grabbed Gunnar's broken knife and buried it in his side. The Irishman screamed in pain, seeming to crumple forward slightly from the impact.

"Gunnar!" Freya cried. He was still pushing downward, but his strength was waning. She reached behind her and grabbed the large knife that every Viking carried with them. As her husband still strained with Dreadlac she dragged herself up next to them, snarled, then buried it in the massive body next to her, ripping the blade downward with all of her strength to create as much of a gash as possible.

Dreadlac's face went gray. Despite the fact that Dragonfang had stopped on his throat, his protective spell still in effect, the Viking's blade in his side had bitten deep. _Very_ deep. So deep he could feel his life leaking out of the enormous tear in his gut. Gunnar could see that something had changed. Pushing through the pain of the shattered knife in his side, he summoned the absolute last of his reserves of strength- pressed down with everything he had left in his body. Suddenly, through the ugly coating of blood covering his face, Dreadlac's eyes went wide. Dragonfang was biting. Then, in a flash, the Gronckle-iron sword sliced through the monstrous man's neck in one fell swoop, his body going limp all at once.

The sudden give caught Gunnar off guard, almost sending him tumbling forward. He stared in amazement at his sword, and the head on the ground. He had done it. Dreadlac was dead. Dreadlac was dead! He reached down and snatched the horrible-looking lump off of the ground and staggered to his feet. Lifting the trophy high in the air, he roared in utter triumph, wounded but victorious. All around him, Vikings, Irishmen, and Dreadlacians stared at what was in his hand in wonder.

He stood there for what seemed like eternity, watching the chaos around him. Dragons swooping, Irishman storming ashore, Vikings and Huscarls fighting. Then his adrenaline left his body in a flush. He shakily fell first to his knees, then his back, feeling so utterly drained that he didn't think he could even lift his fingers. He saw Freya stumble over to him, hand worriedly pressing to his side to staunch the flow of blood trickling out of his stained armor. He turned to her, clutching her dirty forearm as if it was a lifeline- gasping in pain and total exhaustion. His next words were almost a whisper.

"Are you- are you ok? Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head and smiled unsteadily through her tears. "Just a couple broken ribs and a frayed nervous system from, you know, both of us almost dying. Nothing I can't get over. W-what about you?"

He grunted as he shifted, gingerly feeling the condition of his semi-crushed throat. His next words were raspy, so much so it hurt Freya's throat just to hear them. "Well, I have an arrow in the back of my left leg. No idea how, but I can feel it now. Something's stuck in my side, and my throat hurts like hell. Other than that, I'm fine." He saw her worriedly glance down at the object still lodged in the side of his cuirass. "Don't worry about that, whatever that is didn't hit anything (mmmmgrph) vital. The blade caught on a rib going in." He grasped as she touched it. "It is, in fact, _still _caught on my rib."

They stayed there for a little bit, holding each other as the final slaughter commenced. Dreadlacians fled for their lives away from the beaches as agile Irishmen mercilessly pursued, swords flashing, javelins flying, and slings twirling. Freya laughed a little bit and glanced down guiltily. "I feel really bad." He mumbled something questioningly.

"The knife that he stabbed you with. Its uh… it's the knife I gave you for our betrothal gift."

He shifted again and yanked it out, slamming his hand on his side with a small cry of pain. Freya immediately put her hand on his and almost clucked disapprovingly. He looked at the blade curiously through the haze trying to drown his eyeballs. "Huh… Actually though," he groaned as he moved his arm back. "I feel bad for breaking it on something as stupid as an eyeball."

He could feel her head tilt slightly in curiosity. He just closed his eyes in fatigue. "I'll- I'll tell you about it later."

She nodded. "Fair enough. But Gunnar- what happened? How did you defeat him? It looked like he was about to crush you." A slight smile appeared on his grimy and scratched face. "Mmm. I just had to remind myself what the key difference between me and him was." He cracked an eye at her, as traces of his old tender glance showed through his weary expression. "Motivation. There isn't anyone I can't defeat when I'm protecting you." His other eye opened and he looked at her teasingly. "Didn't I already tell you that though?"

A little laugh burst through her watery eyes as she gave him a gentle kiss on his forehead. "You sweet talker. Yes, you did. Last night, in fact. _Man,_ that seemed like a long time ago."

A voice came from above them. "Are you two all right?" Freya looked up to see her mother gingerly holding her head, a little bleary looking but otherwise alright. The armored brunette nodded quietly. "Yes. We're alright." Astrid smiled. "That's my girl." She glanced down at Gunnar, laying there as still as a statue in Freya's arms, eyes closed. "You sure about him?"

Gunnar wearily opened an eye. "We should really by asking whether or not _you're_ all right. You were out like a light when I (mgrph) woke up. What happened to you?"

Astrid shrugged. "No idea. I was checking on you and something wacked me on the head. I think Freya saw what it was, though." Freya shuddered a bit. "I don't want to talk about it right now." Most of the battle had moved on farther into the valley, leaving the beach relatively quiet. A loud cry echoed from above them. Toothless, followed by a squawking Shock, came barreling out of the sky and landed with a slam next to the little group. Hiccup leapt off of his dragon and ran up toward them, flustered as normal. But before he could say anything though, he froze and gaped at the massive headless body laying nearby.

It was also right about then that he realized that the hundreds of fresh troops running down the remaining Dreadlacians weren't Vikings, and that a brand-new fleet was off-loading more. He slowly turned to his wife with a glum face on. "I missed something, didn't I?"

Astrid nodded. Gunnar cracked opened eye with a weak "Ya think?"

Freya looked up from her kneeling position next to Gunnar and glared at her father, anger echoing in her eyes. "Oh, hey dad, nice of you to show up. Where in the archipelago did you think you were going when you left?! Almost all of the wild dragons went with you and we were all but defenseless back here! I was literally half an inch away from dying!"

Hiccup rubbed his face tiredly and took off his helmet. Astrid walked up and put her arm around his waist as she looked at him quizzingly.

He reached behind him and gave Toothless a scratch as the dragon worriedly sniffed at the pair on the ground. "Baby, I didn't mean to leave. Apparently, Dreadlac found Dragon's Edge and had a fleet assaulting it. Toothless heard about it and sent his fastest dragons (i.e, most of them) to go help - just in time as it turns out. They had almost broken through the last line of defense."

Gunnar's eyes flew open and he stared at his chief in surprise. "You mean to say that they _didn't_ actually get to the civilians?!"

Hiccup shook his head. "Nope. Dragon's edge is a tough nut to crack, especially when it's manned. You know all of the warriors who we _thought_ were too old for our campaign? They were quite happy to have a go at the people who burned down their ancestral homes."

He gave his wife a grin. "Speaking of which, I got quite a few compliments on your ballista network left over from our adventure days- they apparently proved key to the island's defense."

Astrid almost purred with pleasure. "Well, if you happen to meet them again, tell them thank you for the compliment." She turned to great Stormfly, who had just run up with Flashbang close on her tail.

Gunnar let his head fall back into his wife's lap with a tremendous sigh of relief. "Oh boy, I thought- oh man. That was close." He smiled tiredly as he looked up at his wife. "What do you say we get patched up and head home?"

Hiccup glanced down at the two of them in surprise. "You're seriously going to skip the victory celebration for a 10-hour trip home in the condition you're in?! Why?"

The young couple glanced up incredulously as Astrid punched him, hard enough to elicit a loud yelp. "They have babies waiting for them at home, hello! Your daughter gave BIRTH a week or two ago!? Remember that? Your panic attack? 'Most traumatic event you've had to sit through' since I gave birth to Freya!? What in the…" She punched him on the upper arm again. "Seriously!? You '_forgot_'?!"

He backed away from his wife defensively. "Aughow! Sorry! I've just had a lot on my mind recently!" He rubbed his arm and glared at the couple laughing on the ground in front of him. "What? It is _not_ that funny. Her punches _still_ hurt."

Gunnar was laughing so hard he was almost hacking up bits of blood from his ravaged throat. "You- you forgo-" The exhausted man bent at the middle, clutching his wounded side and laughing so hard that almost no sound came out as tears rolled down his cheeks.

Freya said afterward that Hiccup was the one who came the closest to killing Gunnar that day, simply with laughter.


	36. Chapter 33- Closing the Book

_Hey guys! It's finally done. Just wrapped up the overall proof reading, and I'm updating a couple chapters (namely ch 1-3 and 12-14, ) that I added some new materiel too. But if you want more, don't worry. I've already been working on some ideas that focus around Gunnar's kids when they grow older, and what exactly happened to the Uldrig the sorcerer. But that's for later. Thanks so much for the views yall have given me and i sincerely hope you've enjoyed it!_

**Closing the Book**

Freya and Gunnar, despite their injuries (and probably unwisely) began the long flight back to New Berk almost immediately after getting basic medical attention and rest. It was going to be awhile before Dragon Island was empty- hospitals had to be built, filled, then emptied. Funerals had to be held, bodies burnt, junk cleaned up. Messages had to be sent, feasts held, and prisoners dealt with. The two of them felt like they had done their part- all of _that _could be handled by the multitude of chiefs present. They had more important business to attend to.

And as the couple flew back in the sunshine, trying to minimize the pain that flying induced in their wounded bodies, Gunnar reflected on all of the work ahead for the entire archipelago- almost all of the Viking's villages would have to be rebuilt, New Berk needed extensive repairing, and whole tribes had to be shipped back to their islands… just to lay out the biggest items on the checklist. Not to mention trying to get back to whatever constituted normal.

They landed outside of Valka's house, battered and weary, to be greeted by almost every Viking on the island clamoring for news. There were so many underfoot that Gunnar couldn't even dismount. Shock had to roar in their faces (and even brandish his blood-coated armor at a few of them) to get them to back off. Gunnar slowly slid down, grunting in pain and almost collapsing when his weight transferred to his wounded leg. The young Bloodhat Chieftess Hertha rushed forward to catch him, letting him rest his weight on her sturdy shoulders.

She gently held him as she watched Valka assist Freya down from Flashbang, and worriedly noted both riders exhausted and wounded state. Actually, all of the Vikings were staring at the two in mute fear, afraid to ask the question that Hertha was giving whispered voice to: "General…did – did we lose?" He shook his head violently, seemingly trying to shake the tiredness from his eyes. It appeared to work, as he stood up a little straighter and glanced at the assembled crowd wearily. "No. Dreadlac is dead. I cut off his head myself, and his army is destroyed."

A happy roar erupted from the gathered Vikings, as warriors and civilians alike laughed and slapped each other on the back, cheering the news. But neither of the two newcomers heard, and neither cared. They quickly slipped into Valka's house unnoticed by the celebrating crowd, assisted by the owner and Hertha. Once inside the graceful old Viking guided the two of them into the same room Gunnar was put in all of those years ago- the room hadn't changed a bit, but they sure had. Each got a quick look over- both of Gunnar's wounds had reopened during the flight, but Freya had gotten off better. It looked like the only thing she had suffered from during the flight was increased exhaustion.

As soon as she had finished, she stood up and gave the two battered warriors a critical eye. "Now my dears, it was very reckless of you two to come flying straight back in the condition both of you are in. It was quite foolish and will lengthen _both_ of your recovery times." But then her stern visage relaxed into a gentle and sympathetic smile. "But if my guess is correct, you did the same thing Stoick and I would've done. Do you want me to go get the twins?" Gunnar nodded and Freya almost whimpered as she answered quietly: "Yes please."

Valka nodded and disappeared. They sat there on the same cot, Gunnar leaning back against the wall and staring up at the ceiling. "You know, it still hasn't really hit me that we won." He grinned slightly and gently held his wife's hand, giving it a little squeeze. "I fulfilled a lot of promises today. I told you I would make sure you survived the battle, and you did. I vowed I would kill Dreadlac with my own two hands, and I did. I promised your mother we could win, and we _did_. This might sound petty but I'm quite pleased with myself. And relieved."

Freya chuckled and shook her head. "You're a weird knucklehead, you know that? Most people would've been proud of having killed Dreadlac and saved the Archipelago, but you're just happy that you fulfilled a bunch of promises."

He looked at her painfully. "What's wrong with that? I take my word seriously. If I say I'm going to do something, I'm going to do it. I'm just saying I'm glad I got a lot of big ones out of the way."

She almost laughed this time, and glance sideways at him lovingly. "I know that, you handsome klutz. That's why I married you. One of the reasons, anyway."

Before he could retort the door opened and Valka came in with a grin, holding two tightly-wound bundles. She laughed as the two parents almost lept at her in eagerness. "Hold on, don't go knocking me down with them! I'm a little fragile, as are they. Here, Freya, there's Finn. He's been fussy ever since you left but otherwise alright." Freya almost burst into tears she was so happy to have her son back in her arms. She held the little snoozing bundle tight, murmuring a symphony of little motherly things.

Valka then handed a wailing Idony into her father's eager hands. Once again, the little girl magically calmed down almost immediately upon feeling her father's comforting arms around her. Valka smiled fondly at her grand- and great-grandchildren. "And poor little Idony has been restless for the entire past week. They've missed you both." She watched the happy little family for a minute or two before she turned to go. "I'll leave you two alone for a little bit. I'll bring you some food in an hour maybe."

They sat there- side by side- exhausted to the bone, scarred and bruised, but victorious, cradling their two children in utter contentment and happiness. Gunner stared into his daughter's big blue eyes, while her perfect little hand clutched his worn and dirty finger. "Freya?" he said without moving his gaze. Freya looked up from her giggling son and smiled at him. "We haven't had the christening ceremony yet, right?" She shook her head. "I think we should change Idony's name."

Freya just tilted her head. "Why? What do you want to change it to?"

Gunnar grinned as his tiny little daughter happily cooed up at him. "Sigrid. Sigrid Kelsi McHartson. We can call her Siri for short. I think that's the name we've been looking for."

Freya looked at the baby and smiled. "'A Brave and Marvelous Victory'. I like it."

He grinned down at the bundle in his arms. "Hi Siri! How does daddy's little girl like her new name?" Siri giggled back up at him, legs kicking in her bundle while her arms waved haphazardly in the air. Gunnar laughed and glanced up at his smiling wife. "Siri approves."

/

Later that week, the newly-christened twins Siri and Finn had the pleasure of witnessing their first Changing of the Chief ceremony. Now that the war was over, and Aker's command abilities had been more than proven at the (somewhat cheesily named) Second Battle of Dragon Island, Hiccup felt that it was finally time to hand the chieftainship off to his son. His reign of 23 years had been some of the most peaceful and prosperous years in Berk's history, and every Berkian Viking that attended stopped by to thank him for his good work. Many of the Archipelago's Chiefs where present as well, all there to congratulate him on a job well done, and to wish Aker good luck.

The first thing that the newly retired chief did was to take that long-planned trip with wife. They were gone for two whole months, with the only communication being random sighting reports. When they finally returned home, all they would say was that they visited a great many sights from their long history and said hello to a great many old friends.

/

Gunnar didn't get final closure with his past until three years after the battle, when his little side project was finally completed. He took a trip back down to Ireland with Freya, the newlyweds Spitlout and Thora, and an Irish friend named Keegan who offered to serve as a guide. Their first stop was to visit Milly at Binsveld village, who's tavern was now a prosperous and bustling meeting place, so much so it was keeping the old lady 'to busy ta die'.

The wonderful old woman was ecstatic to see Gunnar again, and even more excited when she saw Freya's three-month-old pregnant belly. They stayed a good and pleasurable week at her tavern, enjoying the food, getting absolutely spoiled by grateful Irishmen, and telling (modified) stories of the great Battle and Gunnar's duel with Dreadlac (he and Freya had decided to keep secret the apparent magic at Dreadlac's disposal. Gunnar was sure a powerful druid was involved, but it was best not to spook the superstitious Vikings… or Irishmen). After the week, with many well wishes and small parting gifts, they set off to find Gunnar's final destination: his home village. They found the peaceful and deserted clearing after about three days of travel south.

Gunnar slowly drew in a breath of cold air as he surveyed the area. It was pristine and beautiful, in a way. Flowers grew abundant in the clearing, with the only noise being the gurgling of a nearby creek and the twittering of the birds among the wide branches overhead. The only signs of what used to occupy the clearing was the crumbling remains of chimneys, a scattering of rusting metallic objects, and a ruined well.

Keegan walked toward the center of the clearing. "Here 'tis, all tat is left of the Village McKraigh." He paused to look at the scorch marks on one of the crumbling chimneys. "'Tit was burnt down maybe 10-15 years ago by Dreadlac's raiders. As ye can see, not much is left."

Thora nodded. "Looks like it. Check this out." She pointed at a green mound off to the side of the ruins. The crumbling remains of spears encircled it. "Looks like a mound. It probably holds the villager's warriors."

Gunnar shook his head somberly. "No, it holds all of the villagers, not just the warriors."

The Viking tilted her head questioningly. "How do you know?"

Gunnar turned toward the center of what used to be the village. "Because I'm the one who put that mound up."

Gunnar didn't notice his guide's surprised face. In fact, he wasn't seeing the green meadow that he was walking in at all, he was seeing the village as it used to look when it stood, with people long forgotten carrying out their lives happily.

A feeling of Freya comfortingly squeezing his hand snapped him out of his vision. He looked down and smiled appreciatively. Pointing to the far side of the clearing, he said "over there is where I burnt the bodies of the raiders that I and the rest of the defenders killed. You should still find remains somewhere over there, I'm sure there were too many to burn completely."

Keegan glanced over somberly. "So, t'is _is_ the village you're from originally? I am sorry. I do remember this place naow. I had a cousin 'ere that I used to play wi' a lot when I was a wee lad. It was a nice place. Damn shame the daemon had te find it."

Gunnar and Freya stood in front of the remains of two great stone pillars that once marked the entrance to the village's great hall. "I found Seamus here. He apparently made is last stand at the doors to his dead master's home. What was left of him was laying behind a pile of easily 30-40 dead raiders. He made one heck of a last stand."

Gunnar laughed a little bit. "He always said that his only wish in life was to go out with his sword in his hand. I'm glad he got his wish. He was the closest thing to a father figure I ever had."

The unusually somber Spitlout stood up from a small stone that had been placed at the base of the villager's mound. "Well, it looks like you weren't the only one to take care of this place. Someone else has been keeping this clearing in shape, which explains why the forest hasn't taken over yet."

Gunnar studied the surrounding woods strangely. "I wonder who that person is." His gaze fell upon an old oak standing upon a hill overlooking what used to be the village. Erin's favorite tree. He slowly walked his way up to it. At its base was a small cross, with faded Irish words carved carefully into the horizontal piece. Below it a bouquet of flowers, at least a week old, lay wilting on the ground. Someone _was _still taking care of the place, surprisingly.

Freya squeezed his hand. "Is this… is this where she's buried?"

Gunnar nodded sadly. "Well, technically all that is buried here is her locket. That's all I could find. She's probably somewhere in that mound back there, her and the baby. Its… Its sad, really. I wish they didn't have to die like that so I could find you. But… the past is the past." He gently took from his satchel a necklace and placed it around the top of the cross. It was a simple piece of jewelry, with the only decoration being the pendant- a metallic talon-shaped object polished to a gleaming sheen. Gunnar had forged from the metal scavenged from Dreadlac's damaged helmet after the battle.

The soldier stood up straight and looked down at the simple cross with a sigh- like a weight had finally removed itself from his shoulders. "There, it's done. I promised her I would bring him down with my own two hands, and I did." The two of them stood there for a little longer. "Thanks for flying out with me Freya. I needed the closure."

Freya looked down at the little grave. "You're very welcome. I feel better too… to finally see your old home and where your old family was buried really helps me to connect with your past."

Gunnar grinned ever so slightly as he looked back down at the clearing. "Why'd you want to connect more with _my_ sob-story past is mystery. Common. There're too many memories here. I bet the kids are driving your parents crazy by now."

The two of them walked away from the grand old oak tree hand in hand. Gunnar would never come back to the clearing again- he knew it in his soul. With the necklace delivered and his last promise fulfilled, he could finally close the book on his old life and focus completely on the new one ahead- one not filled with pain, destruction, and war, but with happiness, life, and peace.

When he and Shock landed back at New Berk, he was greeted by the wonderful sight of Siri and Finn running pell-mell towards him on their little three-year-old legs, screaming a chorus of happy little 'daddy!'s while waving their toy dragons around. As Gunnar got swamped with hugs and stories of what _exactly_ happened to grandma's cookies this time, he finally realized something deep in his soul.

He was home.

_**THE END**_


End file.
